Folie a Deux (TinCan) - Completed

Chapter 9.4

Some people say that memory was what made humans; human. Metaphors colored the words. We walked the line between imaginary and real. Colors and shapes. About what the cats and reptiles were. Deep perceptions, interpreted the situation.

Can walked down a hallway full of doors. Then he stopped. In front of the elevator, there was a flowerpot, he didn't know what kind of flower, but it was yellow. Pretty shape, Can thought.

He admired it, thinking to replace his dying rubber tree.

There was a moment of silence. Can thought that he could die and was replaced by something prettier, he thought.

Seconds.

Became minute.

Pausing for a long time to contemplate, might be around ten minutes? Twenty minutes? Until Can walked back down the hall. On the new floor. On the floor where Delilah promised he would meet Sky.

Can didn't know what to expect.

Can wondered since the last time he thought about dying. Was there anything else he anticipated? Was his name well known to the public? It was not a proud life history record but interesting enough to be made a biography. Can wondered what made his life more dramatic, ending life with pills or hanging yourself? Can thought might be he should ask Marilyn. Or Kurt Cobain?

Can was not as legendary as Robin Williams. He wasn't sure there would be lighting candles to pray for him.

Can didn't have a character he played as legendary as the Heart Ledger Joker, he was not sure anyone would compare his role to someone else playing the same role.

Might be he should have taken the antagonist role in one of the Marvel films before he died. Or DC.

Coming home from here Can would ask Sammy to contact Marvel or DC. It sounded interesting. Can always dreamed of being Batman long ago. Now he thought he would prefer to be a penguin in order to act as flamboyantly as possible and point his middle finger at anyone who said he made penguins look gay. For fuck sake! Penguin was indeed a Flamboyant man.

Can was getting too far in his thought. Thinking of his life that often didn't make sense.

Life was comical, with sensible acting.

Can wanted to open one by one all doors in the hallway. Wanting to meet whoever was in it and ask them to tell a story. About them. About their life story. About the disease. About their suffering. About what lunch they had yesterday. About what work they did. About which president they thought should have been shot dead. About the possibility of third world war. About their love. About their family. About what they wanted to leave.

About dying, and so on.

Life was nothing more than reason acting comically. It was as if there was something we could call real.

Can wanted present at his funeral when he was buried.

Being aware and listening to people talked about him.

Or about his funeral theme.

Or the music they listened to.

Or the coffin that his family chose.

Can thought. Whose face he wanted to see the most.

Might be Yates, might be Sammy. Might be his father, might be his mother.

Might be Tin too.

For Tin, Can wanted to hang on for some time.

He bet that in a month he would become a dead rubber tree. And Tin would replace him with a flower that was much prettier.