CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As he sat hunched over his computer like a parody of a real person, a sudden profound awareness took hold. The world, this twisted funhouse mirror of a reality, had become so absurd, so utterly ludicrous, that all attempts at art, at humor, had been rendered pointless.

No fiction could capture the absurdity of the modern age. No jokes could dull the pain, and there was no point in even trying anymore, because humans were the jokes and life was the punchline.

He had to laugh. If he didn’t laugh, he’d go insane. But the real gag, the ultimate knee-slapper, was that he”d been nothing more than a bit player in a cosmic comedy of errors. A footnote in the grand farce that was the universe.

The sounds of life, of laughter, seeped through the walls. Giggles, guffaws, shrieks that might as well have been serrated blades designed to saw at his last few threads of sanity. Time had long since lost all meaning in this dank, musty space - seconds, minutes, hours bleeding together like the viscous ichor of a festering wound. Was it day or night beyond these moldering walls? He could no longer tell, nor did it matter.

They were talking about him, he was sure of it. Mocking him. Laughing at him. Just like they always did. So he lurched to his feet and crossed to the window. He twitched the curtain aside with a shaking hand, peering out at the sun-drenched sidewalk. It was daytime, apparently, and outside a group of kids were playing hopscotch, high-pitched giggles like knives in his ears. For a moment, he imagined storming out there, grabbing them by their scrawny necks and squeezing until they went quiet.

But no. Not yet. There was work to be done. Holy work. Righteous work.

He let the curtain fall back into place, shutting out the light and the noise and the sickening normalcy of it all. Returned to his desk, his sanctuary. The only place where he felt truly in control.

On the screen, the video waited for him. He stabbed a key, pausing the video for a single, frozen moment. Leaned in until his nose nearly touched the screen, bloodshot eyes devouring every pixel, every infinitesimal detail. The two before, they had fallen so sweetly. Their choked sobs, the spluttering and gargling before death took hold. Hell, the gentlemen he”d killed had even relieved himself in his final moments.

Okay, maybe he was wrong. Maybe life was still funny sometimes.

He scratched at his arm, nails digging into the pale, pockmarked flesh. Flakes of dry skin fell like snow, littering the desk, the keyboard. He needed to focus, needed to concentrate. The video, that was what mattered. The key to his masterpiece.

Frame by frame, second by second, he scrutinized the images. Or did he? Maybe he was just staring at a blank screen. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d admired a piece of abstract art or shimmering lake, only to find that he was actually gawking at the tiles on his bathroom floor.

It hadn’t always been like this. Once upon a time, the sun rose in the east and set in the west, just like his old geography teacher had taught him. There was a time when women would look him in the eye without sniggering. Used to be he could show his face in public and not get side-eyed by half the population. Life had been normal, until one night everything had changed for the worst. The night the laughter had died, choked off by a tightness in his chest and a roaring in his ears.

He had fled then, wandered the streets for what might have been days. He lost himself in a fugue state, and when he finally found his way back to his apartment, he found he inhabited a different world. One where artistry, laughter and entertainment took a back seat to humiliation and cruelty. He had foolishly believed that society had left the Victorian freakshow in a bygone era, but it had simply evolved and adapted. Instead of gawking at unfortunate souls in dingy tents and seedy back alleys, the masses could point and laugh and jeer from the comfort of their own homes.

Now all people wanted was to capture another”s shame, another”s downfall and showcase it to the world. The court of public opinion had become a colosseum, where hapless souls were thrown to the lions and torn to shreds for the sheer amusement of it. Big mouths had replaced big brains, and the loudest, most obnoxious voices drowned out all others.

Memories kaleidoscoped through his fevered brain, but he benched them and focused on the task at hand.

He turned back to the screen, to the image of the next unwitting character in his story of retribution. In this theater of the grotesque, there could be no rehearsals, no second takes. Every performance was opening night and closing night all in one - a one-time-only engagement, never to be repeated.

But first, the preparations. The stage must be set, the props gathered, the players positioned just so.

However, there was a problem. He’d used two pillory stocks, and if the police had half a brain on them, they’d have made the connection by now.

So, he needed to make a change. He needed some new material.

Either way, his audience would be laughing before the night was out. They’d heckle, scream and beg, but in the end, the joke would be on them.