Kill Your Family

He washed, by hand, each utensil and dish he used after he was finished eating. He knew where she was supposed to be so he went to meet her. An old man passed him a flyer for something, probably something political or maybe religious. Old men rarely flyer for parties or music, but this was New York City, one never knows when some old washed-up jazz musician would be selling his wares to inner-city travelers. The piece of semi-expensive card stock with a high-gloss finish was for a 15-minute film on Dianetics which was available for viewing, free of charge, at the Center of Scientology. He immediately folded the flyer in half and tore it in two. He had spent too much time in Hollywood to be fooled into anything that had the names Scientology, L. Ron Hubbard, Dianetics, engrams or Museum of Psychiatry attached to it.

When he was younger he found himself in trouble with the law and he was forced to go to a psychiatrist. Maybe it was a therapist, he didn’t even care enough then or now to know the difference. He would sit, or lay on the man’s couch and give him the answers he was looking for. The sessions were court-ordered, the therapist (or psychiatrist) was still being paid for his services, so his work was slightly above freezing. He would ask questions like, “When you move is there anyone you will miss?”

“No, not really. I’m out of place anyway. Well maybe my best friend, but I’m fine.”
“How does that make you feel? Moving away from him?” asked the psychiatrist.
“It’s fine,” was the response.
From his experience psychiatry was a joke. Maybe it also was an industry of both death and pain, like the Scientologists say.

By the time he saw her, he was freezing from waiting outside of her apartment door for so long. He slammed his fist into the back of her head and she fell. He raped her, first anally and then vaginally, and left her there. He felt like his night’s work was done and walked off down the street to grab a quick bite to eat.