Diallo is poor but gifted with the ability to tell great lies. After a bad afternoon with his friend Paul in which he nearly ends up in jail, the pair rely on fate to change their lives.
"Let's play it with a coin!" He says. "Flip a coin. Face: our...
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I return to my house. My home sweet home, which my parents named Versailles. I heard they built without toilets, and people would relieve themselves anywhere they could. Taking my parents' chosen house name to heart, I once urinated in one of their many antique tea pots. I left it brewing overnight for the maids.
Speaking of them, none of them like me. They always run away from me when I see them. I did strike one or two of them once with my baseball bat, but to be fair, they shouldn't hold it against me. After all, I paid their mortgages, their children's tuition, and even their debts; if I am not happy, they could work somewhere else for what I care.
At this point, you must say that it is my parents, not me, who pay them. I agree, but they are just never there. Father is too busy at work, so he says. Mother is busy too; she has a new lover, but that's alright; I do enjoy solitude.
Solitude is where my mind works best. That, and Igor Stravinsky performing The Rite of Spring for me. I crack my knuckles to the rhythm of the song, then I take out my torn jacket. I folded it neatly and left it on my bed. Everything in my bedroom has its place, just like every human has a place in the pyramid of my mind with me on the top. Then, I go to sit in my chair in front of my computer.
Where was I? Chapter thirteen.
I'm sure this low life Diallo talked to you about my story. My personal manifesto for this revolting world. I hate those modern days; I wish I were born in the past, when men really had to fend for themselves. I dream of knights killing on the battlefield and assassins killing their kings behind their backs. I dream of a story with a large cast of characters, whom one dies in each chapter except for my hero. He lived by doing what only he saw right.
I am a god in my story. The almighty one in the sky who decides for who lives and who dies. Many of them are real facts from my life; many others are just how far my imagination can go. I spare no one; no one escapes my wrath, from the miscreants at the bottom of my pyramid to the closest acquaintances of my main character on the top. All suffered. All should die; no one deserved peace, love, or respect except for me, Paul Alexander Miller, third of the name. It is I who owns everything, who creates everything. It is I and I only, and I made more twists, more politics, more death, more and more and more...
Until my phone rings. Who can it be at this late hours?
Diallo, of course. Poor Diallo, in his frizzy long hair. Poor Diallo, the lowest excuse for a human being, with his enormous glasses, who can't even see me for who I am truly. What on earth could this miscreant want from me?
Hey Paul, I really enjoyed the hamburger, and I did what we said. I created my Wattpad account just now. You can find me as Dildo. I thought it would be a good pun for what happened today! Feel free to follow me; I just posted the first chapter of my story, "The Smile of My Mom." Of course, you're not forced to read it, but it will be great if you can. Good night and thank you, Paul.
These final words in his text cause a grin to form on my lips. Poor Diallo, if this is what you want. If this is what you really want, it will be my honour to crush all the hopes that live in your soul.
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