Flights of Fancy

guns for flowers

"Why do you think you have a headache?"

He's already acting like I'm holding a gun to his head. I have flowers in my hands.

"Something is bouncing off the walls," I say. "I can feel it in my frontoparetial network."

"You mean on social networks."

"It's trying to burst through."

"And why do you think that is?"

"I've been keeping it locked inside for too long."

"And what do you think it is?"

I give no answer. He slaps the flowers off my hand.

"I don't want these," he says.

"You're being ungrateful."

"Yeah, and so what are you going to do about it?"

"But everyone says you're so nice."

"Does that piss you off?"

"They all love you. They fucking praise you."

"It drives you insane, doesn't it?"

I have more flowers in my suit. I extend them to him. He slaps them off my hand.

"Why can't you just take the flowers?"

"I don't want your flowers. Nobody wants your flowers. People don't expect flowers from you."

"But that's what I want," I say, getting more flowers from my suit.

"To give flowers?"

"To be unexpected."

"You can be unexpected," he says, slapping the flowers off my hand, "but you can't change people's expectations."

"I don't believe that," I say, shaking my head, feeling whatever's inside rocking around. "I think if you work for it enough, you can change your character."

"Characters don't change," he says, slapping flowers off my hands as I keep getting them from my suit. "They only evolve. But deep down they stay the same. And if you act contrary to your character you will come off as disingenuous... as false. As if you're being cunning, ready to strike and reveal your true self at any time, and people see right through you."

"But I won't do that!" I breathlessly pull countless flowers out of my suit. "I don't want to strike anyone, or anything. All I want is to see the smile of gratefulness on your face when you accept my flowers."

"Why? Because it makes me feel good, or because it makes you feel good?"

"Because making you feel good makes me feel good."

"Liar!" He slaps all the flowers off my hands.
I wince from the headache. My temples have turned into explosive mines. I let out a grunt. "It wants to get out!"

"So let it out already!"

"Never!"

"What do you think it is?"

I hiss.

"Answer me, fool!"

"Why should I?"

"Because you know what it is!"

"So what if I do?"

"Say it!"

I pull out flowers with both hands. They're both slammed to my feet.

"You're no hero," he says, with a smirk on his face that people peg as adorable. "You're the villain, and you know it!"

I reach inside my suit. He rolls his eyes and mutters something about the flowers. But then he fixes his peeled eyes on the gun in my hand. "Now wait a second..."

The smirk is on my face now. I hold the gun to his sweaty head.

"Is this what you wanted?"