Seven

Believe me, Walter isn’t who he says he is. Once, he killed a man.

Okay, that was a lie. But you know he would. That’s the kind of person Walter is. A killer. You’re making a big mistake with Walter.

I was watching you and he at the party. He edges in James-Bond-style, achieving all the subtlety of a small explosion. He probably used it up stalking other victims. Watching the two of you from behind a large indoor plant, I see you laugh at his antics. Don’t encourage him. You seem at ease in his presence - that worries me.

He tells you he enjoys your sense of humour. He says he’d like to get to know you more. You say the same of him – no, don’t say that. He’ll rattle off a hand-picked selection of lies. He doesn’t really have a dog called Sam. Sure, he says his favourite colour is mauve. They all say their favourite colour is mauve before they suffocate you in your sleep.

He tells you he’s travelled the world, helping build the lives of impoverished orphans. He thinks about all the African children he hasn’t yet saved, and his eyes begin to melt. Sure, he sounds nice. They always sound nice. But don’t laugh at his jokes. He’s charming you with lies. Sure, he says his dream is for world peace. They all say their dream is for world peace before they slit your throat and serve your innards as casserole.

How can you delude yourself that someone is really that wonderful? Walter can’t be wonderful. He’s Walter. Walter. He’s clearly a killer.

This entry was written on August 22, 2007 by Alice Albert. It is about/includes mentions of hate, lies, people, possibilities. You can leave a comment, or trackback from your own site.