hector [✌️] d8 // fin

fox Graphics 1,363 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Apr 25, 2024 12:23:42 GMT -5 but a butt ?	hector [✌️] d8 // fin Jan 23, 2022 3:04:07 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by fox on Jan 23, 2022 3:04:07 GMT -5 *hector fujisaki* eighteen make me an offer i cannot refuse!
	Last Edit: Jan 31, 2022 2:02:17 GMT -5 by fox

fox
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but a butt ?

hector [✌️] d8 // fin Jan 23, 2022 15:18:42 GMT -5

Quote

Post by fox on Jan 23, 2022 15:18:42 GMT -5

“I love ice cream. When I was little, an ice cream truck would stop by my house every day. I was always happy to see it. Once I asked my dad why he didn't drive an ice cream truck. He didn't answer. I later found out my mother had been run over by an ice cream truck.”

– He Zhiwu, Fallen Angels (1995)

fox Graphics 1,363 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Apr 25, 2024 12:23:42 GMT -5 but a butt ?	hector [✌️] d8 // fin Jan 25, 2022 20:36:30 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by fox on Jan 25, 2022 20:36:30 GMT -5 you've heard of businessmen get ready 4 businessbros
	Last Edit: Jan 25, 2022 20:36:47 GMT -5 by fox

fox
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hector [✌️] d8 // fin Jan 31, 2022 1:08:45 GMT -5

Quote

Post by fox on Jan 31, 2022 1:08:45 GMT -5

H E C T O R

► ► ►

When I was seven or eight, my dad dumped all the family funds into opening a bookstore, called it Himari after my mother who died the year earlier, and moved us into the apartment complex above it.

We were wedged between a snack shop and a bar. Daytime, the street was full of school kids with quarters in their pockets, lined up for strawberry coloured candies and chocolate cakes. Night time, and their parents lamented over the economy, over the pollution, the games, the death of their children – and then forgot all about it after a drink or three.

Himari was my dad's dream.

He loved books. He had a whole collection of ancient texts he kept locked in this rusty little safe I could open with a hair pin by the time I was nine. He'd tell me folk tales at night from those pages, so water-damaged they could've turned to seafoam in his hands at every reading.

I liked the one about the boy born from a giant peach the most, liked that he could kill off his enemies as easy as pie, even though my dad said that wasn't really the point.

He wasn't much of a businessman though. I remember the loan sharks that would have smoke breaks outside our door, their guns always at their hip like another limb restless for a good stretch. As a kid, I imagined those guys as the demons from Momotarō, horns hidden just beneath their skull, iron in their hands, swathed in tiger skins.

Now my dad's dead.

Just kidding!

But he is dying – got a brain tumour the size of a fist up there. Every other Sunday, I go to the hospital and check if he's kicked it yet. And if not, then I read to him. Don't know if he really even knows what I'm saying anymore, but it's the thought that counts I guess.

Back then, I was always thinking about death – about the way mom looked in her casket, about dad with the tubes tied into his anatomy like plastic veins, wondering if there was an afterlife, wondering what it would be like to die, what it would be like to kill someone.

And I'd tried it a few times – death, that is, holding my breath to catch a glimpse of an angel, but all that happened with that cute trick was that I passed out and woke up at four a.m., hungry at hell.

I think that's just a symptom of the generation though, the fascination with death. We grew up with it.

Then I tried the other thing a few times – killing someone else. And that one stuck!

I kept dad's store open for him. The old man laboured his whole life for this place, so I thought the least I could do was preserve it.

Just that it's called Jeff and Steve now.

And it's not really about books.

We rebranded alright? It's a gig economy these days and everyone's got a side hustle. Mine's the books.

Baz and I made eye contact one time at Mr. Kerhs' house in the middle of the night. Saw the knife he was holding, and thought it was pretty sweet how someone else was trying to kill their geography teacher too.

We make a pretty good team. Sometimes he opens jars while I pop down real quick and axe a kid's neighbour. Sometimes I help screw in a loose lightbulb while he guns down the lady's husband in the bathroom over. I read somewhere you wanna have good customer service, chapter eight in this Capitolite businessman's self-help book picked from the piles in the storeroom one boring, sunny afternoon, and it's been paying off to do a few extra things here and there along with the murdering.

I don't really mind. I mean, Mrs. Dorset even invited us to dinner to watch the peacekeepers puzzle over the body that seemed to have flung itself outta the fifth floor. They ruled it as suicide – yeah, I wrote the note. Something something about the accursed affliction of insignificance and the feeling of being helpless under capitalism.

Don't ever say I'm not literary.

Business is good. We even hired this kid to pick up calls and count the change like we're a whole company now.

I guess some would say murdering isn't great for the soul.

But so is dying, and we all do it anyway!

Last Edit: Oct 6, 2022 0:01:42 GMT -5 by fox

fox Graphics 1,363 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Apr 25, 2024 12:23:42 GMT -5 but a butt ?	hector [✌️] d8 // fin Jan 31, 2022 2:03:21 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by fox on Jan 31, 2022 2:03:21 GMT -5 hes just an employee ripred_bot

☢️ Moderator 4,185 POSTS Pronouns: She/Her last seen Apr 27, 2024 10:37:28 GMT -5 call me jaded	hector [✌️] d8 // fin Jan 31, 2022 6:28:55 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by ☢️ on Jan 31, 2022 6:28:55 GMT -5