“So, tell me, son, what is the problem?”
“There is no problem. I’m here because my dad made me come.”
“Regardless of why you’re here, you are here. So why not relax and talk to me.”
“There is no problem.”
“What did your Dad say was the problem?”
“He thinks I’m crazy because I hear voices in my head.”
“You hear voices in your head?”
“Who’s? Do you recongize the voice?”
“Yeah. Well, most of the time anyway. They’re usually the voices of famous people. Famous dead people. If I don’t get who they are, I just assume I don’t know about them yet.”
“What do they uusally say, these voices?”
“Be serious, Karl.”
“No, I refuse to be serious. Listen. Do you know how my last name is pronounced?”
“Kant? Is that right?”
“No. It’s pronunced Kunt. Do you know how much shtick I get at school?”
“Did you just put a ‘h’ in stick?”
“It makes me feel more german.”
“Do you get angry at your classmates, Karl when they make fun of you? Do you feel like an outsider?”
“Yes, but so does everyone else in my class.”
“Not really, Karl. Sometimes the alienation felt in a new culture can have a deep impact and lead to major issues later.”
“I’ve been here since I was 6. There’s nothing alien about this place.”
“I think you’re hiding your feelings, Karl.”
“You’re such a dick.”
“Yes, Karl, let it out, let it all out.”
“Don’t stare at my penis when you say that.”
“I was doing no such thing!”
“You’re a paedophile.”
“No, I’m not, Karl. I have a loving wife and two children at home.”
“Have you touched them?”
“Of course, I’ve-”
“Not in the way you mean.”
“You said it.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“Your dick must be really small for you to become a shrink.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You sit in here and listen to all these people talk about how small their dicks are you and feel better about yourself. I get it. It’s a sweet deal.”
“You perverted little imp. You’ll probably a delinquent when you grow up and end up in prison when you’re older.”
“At least I won’t be a two inch paedophile who gets off on the misery of other people.”
“Fuck off, kid. I’ll tell your Dad you’re beyong help.”
“Will you dream about me tonight?”
“Think of me when you come!”
Karl Kant gew up to be a very enterprising man. At the age of 17, he started http://www.mythnecromarket.com where he bought cadavers off people who didn’t need them. Fitted them out as mythological races and sold them to necrophiliacs the world over. He listed out his techniques for free but charged for personal orders. The skill and the packing that went in were enough to earn him the premium rates he charged. The most in demand and the simplest were vampires. A little makeup. Some teeth. And voila! Werewolves were harder. Usually, he would so no stock on them unless a real hippy or wannabe be rockstar came in. He would ship out only close to three a month anyway but that was enough. He wasn’t really doing it for the money anyway. He closed down the ordering portal in a two years though. He just didn’t have the time anymore. He had found love.
Love came in the surprising form of a girl. On the internet. Her handle was Princest and Karl had no doubts he loved her. He tweeted to her. He Im’d her. He IRC’d her. He spent as much time as possible in communication with Princest. He was pretty sure she liked him too. Otherwise she’d have told him to go and fuck himself by now. He could see no reason why she shouldn’t like him. They were exactly the same. She had even started a body shop website when she was 17! Karl had discovered it too late but once he did, he always ordered from her. He loved the personal notes that came with the body. They made him feel special.
Yet, he had never told her how he felt. (Yeah, I know. Exactly.)
On her advice, he went back to college. To spray-paint ‘FUCK YOU’ on the wall. On his advice, she didn’t get a piercing. She got a magnetic glove that really hurt when brought within ten centimeters of someone else’s piercing. Her friends now hated her. They sent pictures to each other. Of animals in clothes. That was another thing they had in common. They both really liked pictures of various animals in clothes. Dogs in clown costumes, Pigs in victorian dress, Monkeys in tutus. They laughed and laughed at them. And then they went and trolled the happy bloggers.
Life was going pretty alright, for the young Kant, when suddenly something went suddenly wrong. Princest deleted everything. Everything. She took down her twitter account, her blog, her last.FM profile, everything! Karl went a little bit insane. He smashed his computer screen with his keyboard. He just couldn’t understand it. There was no note, nothing! Then, he made up his mind. He grabbed all the money he had and bought a train ticket to where he knew Princest lived. She had always been close enough to visit but they had decided against it. The internet was one thing. Real life was something else entirely. But Karl rode the train for the few hundred miles necessary and ran all the way to the address he had gleaned from his various attempts at stalking her. He didn’t have a house number, just s street name. Sometimes when she wasn’t online, he would just open Google Street View and watch it, hoping to catch anything.
There was nobody on the street. He knocked on every door. Asking for Moira, Princest had told him her first name. He got swore at a lot over the hour it took him to knock on every door. No one knew who he was talking about. He hadn’t minded till the very last door. Then, he broke down. And crying he just fell down on to the street and stayed there. When he was done and there were no more tears left, he got up and made his way back to the train station.
He kept turning around, hoping she’d be there. He knew it happened only in the movies. He hated himself for being such angsty bitch. He thought about killing himself but he was too angry for that. He was never going to find a girl like that again. He rode the train back home. Grabbed a bite to eat and crawled back to his computer. He had a new offline message. From her. She was back! He opened it. It simple read, ‘I knew you liked me. Look in the cupboard.’ He opened it and the breath went right out of him. It was a body done up like Chewbacca.
(It wasn’t her. I’ve got lots of letters from people who don’t seem to understand a goddamn thing! Why would you think it’s her? You’re all mad!)