Victor

March 29, 2017
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Call me Storyman and know that is my name. This is a mad tale, for it shall live in fame. This is a tale of a mad man, a mad man and his games.


It was a cold brisk day and there walked a cold brisk man. His steel-toed Italian leather shoes interrupted a flock of pigeons at their feast. It wasn’t only pigeons that would scurry away from his presence. His thin cut lips and slick black hair shaped his pale face to reveal a cold, heartless man. Even with a fine stature, he couldn’t swoon over the ladies. Oh, but he was tall. His long legs glided his striped pants down the street. His walk was slightly forced with a cane to his side. His hand gripped a small diamond skull. His presence was made sure of by the “click-clack” of his pronounced limp. As he was walking, he kept catching his top hat every time a gust of wind would attempt to steal it. He approached a house’s door steps. As he made his way up, he patted his chest to make sure something was still there. He looked behind himself to make sure no one else knew what was there. He knocked on the door three times for good measure. At once opened a peep hole. The man and the eye exchanged secret passage words. The door opened and the man entered.
“Victor!” greeted the opener of the door with his arms out.
“Myagi!” responded the guest. Victor took his top hat off and gently propped it on his cane leaning both against the wall.
“Victor, please, take a seat,” insisted Myagi. They both sat down at a long dinner table on opposite ends of each other. Along the sides stood two finely dressed men. Each had a polished gun noticeably at the sides of their hips. Victor took notice and discretely laid one hand under the table.
“Myagi, I have what you requested, in turn you grant me what I’ve requested,” Victor said as his smile disappeared.
Myagi’s smile never left his face as he bargained, “Victor, you know I need what I want first. It’ll just be better that way.” They both stay starring at each other, waiting. Myagi shooed the two men away. Victor, feeling obligated, reached into his chest pocket and took out an envelope. He slid it down the table. Myagi picked it up and closely examined it. He used his knife to open it. Victor sat watching as Myagi’s eyes quickly read. He read in permanent print a check for one billion dollars. Myagi slammed his fist on the table in disgust, “Victor! You are one billion short.”
Victor leaned into the table assuring his words with his hands, “You will have the next half tomorrow. I just got held up today and just need a few more hours time. I-”
“It is always tomorrow with you! Enough of these games Victor! You are going to pay one way or another.” Myagi stood up and jolted a gun pointing it point blank at Victor. Victor threw up one hand in mercy with his other safely on his own gun.
“Myagi please, you have to understand! Please, it’s just a couple more hours.”
“No!” shouted Myagi. Myagi went to pull the trigger seconds too late before Victor pulled out his pistol and targeted Myagi in the heart. Myagi looked down in disbelief and fell to the floor. Victor flipped his gun in the air and tucked it away in his holster. He swayed his way over to a wall. He grabbed his cane and bounced the top hat back on his head. He walked over to Myagi and crouched down to his face.
“Myagi,” Victor whispered, “you can not take me for a fool, I always win.” Victor took the check out of his hands and securely placed it in his chest-suit pocket once more. Victor opened the door but heard his name being called and stopped and turned around.
Myagi was struggling to speak his last few words, “Victor… you may have beaten me… but you’ll… never… win.” As Myagi took his last breath, Victor saw several police running towards him. Victor instantly was deciding his fate. He knew life in prison for his heinous murder would drive him madder than he already was, and he realized he could not take on a blow out with the police. He took out his gun and lifted it to the side of his head. He snugged it up practically pressing on his brain. He closed his eyes, and went out on his own terms. Victor’s cane dropped and bounced on the ground before his old body shortly followed.
A soccer ball slammed against his newly fallen head. A little boy ran after it and picked it up. As he picked it up he nudged Victor with his foot. He ran back to his friends that were playing soccer. He leaned into one of the boys in particular asking what was wrong with Victor. The other boy in response said he’s been watching him for the last twenty minutes and wrote it down in his journal. He explained how he enjoyed documenting homeless people. One boy said, “If I ever become that crazy, just put me out of my misery would you.” All of the boys laughed and got back to their game. The boy that wrote about Victor laid his notebook on a bench. It read:
“Dear Diary,
Today was another encounter with homeless man #27 (a.k.a. Victor)
Here are today’s events:
Victor runs into a flock of pigeons and scares them until they all fly away. Every person that walks by him cringes away at his smell. He wears only socks with holes on each of his big toes. He has an old english wig on to make up for is baldness. He wears tight striped lady’s leggings that barely make it past his knees because of how tall he is. He has a walking stick that is a big, old branch. Every time he takes a step he loudly says, “Click-clack, click-clack!” while dramatically swaying from side to side. He finds a brown paper bag on the side of the street and deems it his hat. The wind barely knocks it off and Victor shouts at the wind to stop trying to steal his new hat. He slowly approaches a chair. He snaps his head around at me, I assume he knows I am following him, but he turns back around. He knocks on a broken gate beside the chair. A big rugged teddy bear sits in the chair. Victor hugs the bear loudly yelling “My Froggy!”. He throws his “hat” and walking stick on the ground. Victor makes his way to an opposite chair. Two alley cats join them while meowing. One has a rat in his mouth. Apparently this frightens Victor because he shooed the cats away. Victor stares at the teddy bear for ten minutes. Victor takes out a piece of crumpled paper from his hoodie pocket and throws it at the teddy bear’s face. Suddenly, he puts his hands up in the air saying, “My Froggy please, you have to understand! Please, it’s just a couple more hours.” Victor jumps up and takes a banana out of his pocket and hits the bear in the chest with it. Victor gets up to put the brown bag back on his head and grabs the stick. He pushes the bear on the ground and whispers to it. He gets up and then sees my friends running after a soccer ball about to hit him. Victor takes another banana out of his pocket, lifts it to the side of his head, and this time squeezes the banana getting the yellow insides of it all over him. Victor then drops to the ground and quickly falls asleep. I later go over to where Victor had his episode, curious of what the piece of paper has on it. In blue crayon is the number one and the letter b.
I feel very sorry for this man, I just hope he gets the help he needs.”

A tale yes, a tall tale no. For this could have happened for all I know. I’m a mere teller of all things mad, and this man won the cake with his invisible playland.






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