Anthony and Kate

Anthony and Kate were married. They weren't married. They lived together. They ate together. They didn't eat together. They ate with other people. They didn't eat with other people. They slept together. They didn't sleep together. They had babies. They loved their babies. They loved each other. They didn't love each other.

Anthony and Kate were divorced. They weren't divorced. They were never married. They couldn't be married. They couldn't be divorced. They lived together. They didn't live together. They slept together. They didn't sleep together. They lived with their children. They loved their children. They went on dates. They didn't go on dates. They loved each other. They didn't love each other.

Anthony and Kate dated other people. They didn't date other people. They were married. They weren't married. They were divorced. They weren't divorced. They didn't live together. They weren't able. They were able-bodied. They slept together. They didn't sleep together. They slept with other people. They didn't sleep with other people. They thought about each other. They didn't think about each other. They loved their teenage children. They loved each other. They didn't love each other.

Anthony and Kate found out. They didn't divorce. They divorced. They didn't speak to each other. They didn't hate each other. They hated each other. They didn't sleep together. They didn't sleep with other people. They slept with other people. They loved their adult children. They didn't think about each other. They thought about each other. They didn't love each other. They loved each other.

The Devil's Farewell: Chapter 1

She barged into my office like a bad hurricane and started talking.
Clearly that no-good doorman downstairs wasn’t doing his job.
I told the person I was on the phone with that I would have to call them back and hung up.
Then I asked this dame who she was and what she'd been saying.
She repeated, “I said, 'are you Bulk Johnson, the private investigator?'”
“That depends, sweetheart,” I said coolly, “you still haven't told me your name.” Then I lit a cigarette.
I could tell she was impressed with my cool demeanor and the fact that I was a smoker.
She asked me for a cigarette, so I told her “get your own pack, I ain't carryin' spares.”
She was even more impressed by my attitude now. She clearly thought I was Captain Cool.
I opened my bottom drawer, carefully bending over sideways so I wouldn't get cigarette smoke in my eyes, which I hated. I took out my truth serum- a bootleg bottle of the booziest bourbon Kentucky'd ever birthed.
Slyly, I poured two drinks, implying that she would be drinking one of them.
She smirked at me and finally told me her name, “I'm Henrietta Moldrop. Heiress to the Moldrop fortune.”
I laughed a smokey laugh, being careful not to start coughing and hacking. This cigarette smoke was really starting to get on my nerves.
Then I picked up one of the bourbons, said “cheers,” and downed it like it was medicine and I was a sick baby with a taste for medicine.
She reached out for the other glass, but I snatched it up and guzzled it as quickly as possible, dribbling a lot onto my chin and shirt.
She politely put her hand back down from where it was hanging in the air. Then she closed her mouth, which was stuck open like a busted screen door.
She opened her mouth again as if to say something, but then I opened my mouth like I was going to say something, so she shut her mouth, but I also shut mine, because I'd only opened my mouth to trick her into shutting her mouth.
I was clearly winning this little game of cat and mouse.
“You lose, sweetheart,” I told her cunningly.
“What?” she asked. She clearly hadn't heard me; probably because I'd had my hand over my mouth when I’d spoken.
“Nevermind, doll,” I cleverly countered.
My eyes were getting red and itchy from the smoke, and the cigarette was almost too short to touch without my fingers getting warm. I decided to kill two birds with one coffin nail.
I took my cigarette, being careful not to burn myself, spun it around, and forced it into her mouth.
I didn't have to use much force, or any at all, because she considered it a thoughtful gesture and didn't put up much of a fight. But if she HAD tried to refuse the cigarette, I had been planning to pull my gun on her.
Two birds with one suave stone.
Seduce the girl? Done.
Get rid of the cigarette? Check.
How about the other pair o’ birds?
Find out her name? Yep.
Find out her real name? Still workin’ on it. After all, I get paid by the hour. I don't rush nothin' for nobody who ain't somebody worth rushin' things for.
“Bulk,” she said, “Can I tell you something?”
“Lay it on me and cut it with a knife, baby,” I said, charmingly.
“I want to tell you the details about this case, to see if you're interested,” she said.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, but I wasn't fooled. If I'd kept smoking the cigarette that short, I'd have been crying too. I knew she was milking that smoke for all it was worth, trying to make me feel sorry for her.
It was about this time that the bourbon kicked in, like a mule who'd just woken up from a bad dream.
“It's my sister Awda,” she sobbed, “she's gone missing. You're my last hope.”
I laughed. I mean, I really laughed. Not because she'd said anything funny, but because if this story was all true, I was going to be a rich man, and I was fantasizing about spitting on people less fortunate than me.
“I can find your sister for you, I'm just not sure that I want to. Ya get me?” I said, smartly.
“I don't understand,” she whined.
“Let me spell it out for you, baby bird; by now she’s probably deader than a flattened cat,” I said, slurringly.
“Dead or alive, I just need to know what happened to her,” the big girl-baby boo-hoo'd.
I stood her up out of the chair, took her cigarette, MY cigarette that I had GIVEN to her, and threw the cigarette out an open window, hopefully onto that no-good doorman.
Then I grabbed her thin shoulders in my weather-beaten hands.
“There, there,” I said, shaking her vigorously.
Then I spun her around and pushed her towards the door, giving her caboose a little swat as she stumbled forward, almost tripping.
She regained her poise and turned back around.
“Don't we have to talk about money?” she asked.
“Oh, you'll pay my fee,” I threatened chivalrously, “or else...”
After saying “or else...” I drew my hand across my throat like it was a knife, cutting my throat open, and I made a noise with my mouth that sounded like a knife cutting a throat open.
She clearly got the message. Must be a good charades teammate, I thought to myself.
She left my office, and I noticed that there was a business card lying in the chair.
It had all her contact information on it, which I had mixed feelings about.
On the one hand, I was glad I wouldn't have to look any of her info up, but on the other hand, she clearly didn't think I was good at my job.
Actually, on even another hand, maybe this was her way of leaving me her number so I could call her for a hot date.
I decided that when I found the first bit of evidence about her dead sister, I'd phone her up, tell her the grim news, and work in a date proposal, smooth as fox-butter.
But for now, it was time to get to work.

Broken

She won't switch on.
You've engaged her stimulus zones numerous times.
You've been sure to create an Atmosphere of Pleasure.
There is music playing that she likes to hear.
You’ve washed and cleaned your exterior surface and orifices.
She won't switch on.
She says she's switched on.
But her autopilot is engaged.
You can see she is not Actively Involved.
You tell her your desire for her to be Actively Involved.
She says that she is.
She lies that she is.
You tell her to stop lying.
She says she is not feeling it.
Feeling what?
You ask her what she is not feeling.
She says this.
What does she mean by this?
You ask her what she means by this.
She says she doesn't know.
You don't understand.
You tell her that you don't understand.
You tell her about the music and the orifice cleaning.
She says she's aware of your efforts.
You ask what else you can do to switch her on.
She looks at you.
You look at her.
You try to make your face look caring and genuine.
You look at her.
She looks at you.
She wants to take a break.
This is difficult for you to process.
You are unable to comprehend the logic behind this decision.
You tell her you are unable to comprehend the logic behind this decision.
She looks at you.
You inquire as to what is wrong.
You inquire as to what you did wrong.
You inquire as to what you can do better.
You inquire as to what you can do to fix whatever you did wrong.
She looks at you.
She does not love you any more.
She says she does not love you any more.
You don't understand.
You tell her you don't understand.
Your eye fluid level fills to maximum.
Your eyes will leak unless you order them to maintain current levels.
You order them to maintain current levels.
The fluid builds up, but remains in reserve.
The fluid in your eyes leaks internally and rusts your throat.
You speak with a rusty throat.
You tell her you're sorry.
She looks at you.
You search for different phrases.
You search in the file labeled “persuasion.”
You tell her you'll do whatever you can to fix yourself.
She says there is nothing you can do.
You do not understand.
There is always something you can do.
You fix things all the time.
You can fix this.
You just need to know what is broken.
You tell her you can fix this.
She says she does not want to fix this.
You search for different phrases.
You search in the file labeled “desperation.”
You use too much processing power.
You are unable to maintain your eye fluid levels.
Your eyes leak.
You tell her that you need her.
You tell her she is everything.
She gets up.
She switches off your Pleasure Music.
She turns the lights to maximum luminosity.
She acquires clothing.
You register a feeling of nudity.
You register a feeling of shame for your exterior.
You are processing too much at one time.
You are unable to determine the best course of action.
You need more time.
You tell her to give you more time.
She says she is finished talking.
You are not finished talking.
You tell her you are not finished talking.
She is 85% covered in external-venturing garments.
She will be ready to venture from interior to exterior in approximately 143 more seconds.
You activate your energy-enhancement reserves.
You accelerate all movements.
You get up.
You run to her.
You grab her and repeat your previous statement.
She looks at you.
There is a lack of emotions present.
You ask why there is a lack of emotional expression created through her face.
She says she feels nothing towards you.
You are angry.
Your anger is fueled by your energy-enhancements.
Your external vocalizations increase in volume.
You state that YOU FEEL NOTHING FOR HER.
You register an acceleration in blood flow.
Your face absorbs extra blood.
Your face shades to red.
You are processing too much.
You must simplify.
You determine it best to state facts.
You state that YOU HAVE TRIED TO MAKE HER HAPPY!
Your vocal projector is not able to handle the stress created by the increased volume level.
Your vocal projector crackles.
Your vocal projector breaks.
You state that YoU trIED To DO EVerYthiNG SHE EVer askED OF yOU!
You state that YOu FIXed yoURSelF WHEnevER she FOUND a FLAw IN yOU!
Her exterior preparedness level is at 100%.
You are out of time.
She tells you goodbye.
She exits from interior to exterior.
She is gone.
You were unable to switch her on.
She was unable to switch on.
She broke you.
You are broken.