RAW MATERIAL #001: An All Right Start

The light at the end of the tunnel was fading.

Every detail of the place was precisely as I remembered it, at least. Lavish, ostentatious, all that gold — a palace, more or less. You could’ve eaten goose liver out of the bidet, and at some point I’m sure she did. Even the chandeliers had chandeliers.

I never cared about all the beautiful things, really. But oh, sure, I didn’t mind them either. I didn’t tell him to spend less on anything, I suppose. I never rejected any of the dramatic gifts, unnecessary trips — that was just who he was. When things were good, they were so good.

Anyway, I’m just telling you I wouldn’t lie that I don’t miss it all sometimes.

The light behind me, flickering at the end of this…what is this even? A sewer? The light is fading. I must be getting close to the exit; there’s no way anyone would have arrived to help by now.

I didn’t want this, you know. It was supposed to be a joyful day. It was our day, the day we talked about — the day he picked. That’s what made it all so goddamn sick. “A perfect, brand new start.” It was supp —

Well, I’m sure you see now: that’s why I had to come back here today. In another world somewhere, we were together, he and I: dancing, celebrating, toasting…being toasted. Instead I’m splashing through this disgusting filth because of that horrid, common wench. Instead of dancing and drinking and walking on air like I was supposed to be.

It always was our little pleasure to drink together this time of year: a nice, dry vodka martini or two. There was something so nice about sitting at his bar, enjoying the fire and the view. Even the way he could get, it was fine — it was all worth it. People just are how they are, and you accept them or you don’t. I accepted everything. Should have been more than enough.

I deserved it. I deserved it. I deserved him.

Not that repulsive…she probably didn’t know vermouth from dish detergent. She looked like someone who would have gone to my high school. Probably drank gin in the wintertime, that wretched…you know the kind.

I wonder how he’ll handle a call like this on his way to that quaint little godforsaken church I picked out. Yes, that I picked out. I wonder who it will be, calling him to share the awful news, just awful, as the driver pretends to be uncomfortable overhearing like he always does. I wonder if that’s where the white Town Car is — simple, but it was always my favorite — all the little pleasures we had back there — he never should have tried to drive, really — I hope it reminds him of me when he hears.

I don’t know if that woman even liked to drink. But I’m sure she’s burning up just fine with the damn place anyway.

It’s all dark behind me now.

Happy Fucking New Year, you deranged little nightmare witch. Happy Fucking New Year to all your ugly little cousins and hideous little grandparents and tacky little friends. I hope they at least enjoyed the fireworks.

Shame about the maids. Now where in hell does this dreadful tube come out, already?