#106 The Narcissist
#106 The Narcissist The tracks ran right hrough the center of the burg, a cluster of less than a hundred houses. Jane and I waited in front of a grimy old brick station for the next freight train. Most of the passenger trains generally sped through with a short whistle blast that acknowledged the place existed. But the freight trains slowed to a crawl climbing the long hill coming to town, making it easier to hop a ride. The robbery happened so fast I could hardly remember how it happened. We went to the bank to stand in the long tellers’ lines the day before to cash my paycheck, payday for the only factory in town. Everyone always rushed to the bank as soon as they got their paycheck. Two men entered wearing bandanas covering half their face and felt hats pulled down low, almost like the Old West. “Everybody on the floor,” one hollered. They pointed shotguns and swung them around in a half-circle to give everyone a close look. The shorter man jumped over the counter and made all the tellers empty the cash drawers into a canvas bag. The four tellers and a manager behind the counter raised their hands. One started crying. “Please don’t shoot us,” she sobbed. Another teller begged, “Please… I’ve got a wife and baby to take care of.” The manager, skinny and pale as a plucked chicken, looked as though he was shitting his pants. The rest of the customers had already stretched out on the floor. The taller robber walked over to us and pointed his shotgun directly at me. Before he got there, Jane nudged me and nodded towards the pistol he carried in his belt. It was a .45 Colt. Identical to the one she target shoots with. “Whatsa matter, don’t want to lie down asshole?” I didn’t answer; but just looked at him, not liking the way he looked at Jane. I didn’t blame him for what he was thinking, because Jane’s a good-looking dame, especially when she wore the flowered cotton dress that hugged every curve on her body. “Hey baby, how’d you like to come with me and spend some of the dough?” He took one hand from the shotgun and reached out to slap her ass. My anger boiled over. I tried to grab the shotgun from his hands. We struggled for a minute, pulling it back and forth. Jane saw her chance and reached between us to take the pistol from his belt. Slick as a whistle, she cocked it, put the barrel to the side of his head, and pulled the trigger. The opposite side showered everyone on the floor with blood and bits of brain. He stood poised like a statue for a few seconds, then let go of the shotgun and crumpled to the floor. The gunshot brought his partner back over the counter, aiming his shotgun at us. I tried to figure out how the hell to use the shotgun I held by that time, but before I could, Jane had already put a hole between his eyes. The sheriff walked in and saw the shotgun in my hands. He took a shot at me as I turned around with the intention of explaining what had happened. He missed me, but somehow the shotgun went off, and I blew a hole in the sheriff. The two deputies about to enter the bank saw me turn and shoot the sheriff. They thought I did it on purpose and started shooting at me through the plate glass doors. I threw the gun on the floor and put my hands in the air. “It was an accident,” I yelled. They didn’t want me to surrender – revenge was what they were after. I jumped over the counter to get out of their line of fire, but I landed face to face beside the fallen robber, staring at the tiny round hole between his eyes. From the corner of my eye, I saw the open safe with stack upon stack of bills piled there for the taking. By then the manager and tellers were queasy and sweaty with fear and huddled in a corner behind a desk. Compulsion overtook me. All I could think of was that money. I knew there was more cash in the safe than ten thousand of my measly paychecks. I grabbed the bag the tellers had already filled up. I dumped it out and filled it with nice neat stacks of bills. Then I grabbed the dead robber’s gun. By this time, the deputies had come through the doors. They ran to the counter shouting, “Hands up!” I stood up and raised my hands over my head. Two shots rang out. Two heads spurted blood and brains from their foreheads and all over the counter. Jane stood with a smoking .45 in her hand. Screaming people ran from the bank. An aroma of gunpowder permeated the air and smoke from the shootings curled around the lobby. Jane laid the Colt on the counter, pulled out her compact and looked in her little mirror to apply lipstick like nothing had happened. To carry the heavy money bag, I had to drop the rifle. The sheriff’s car was directly in front of the door with the motor running. I pushed Jane in. She left the .45 on the counter with her prints all over it. She was brave, but not too smart. She had been like that all her life – tough, mean and dumb. I can’t count the number of animals I stopped her from killing with that pistol of hers. I drove like hell, not knowing what to do. Jane rifled through the stacks of money, suggesting we hop on a train and go somewhere. For once, she made sense. That seemed like the best way out of our predicament. I headed for the railroad tracks. There was a freight train coming through town, the 4:03 special. I rushed to the crossing and got there ahead of the train. Parked the car under some trees where it wouldn’t be seen from the tracks. I grabbed the money and Jane, and we scrambled alongside the train until I saw what looked like an empty boxcar. Threw the moneybag on first, then Jane. I jumped on as the train picked up speed. As soon as I stood up, I spotted two hobos sitting in a corner. The moneybag tipped over, dumping a slew of cash out in front of them. “Hey, that’s mine,” I yelled, when one of them jumped up holding a long knife in one hand. The pair showed their mottled teeth in lopsided grins. “It’s ours now,” the knife-wielder said. I wasn’t sure what to do until Jane sauntered closer. He couldn’t help but watch her move in that dress. With his attention diverted, I kicked him in the balls. “Oof, ah, whatthehell,” he muttered. When he bent over in agony, I kicked him in the face and knocked him out. Next, I kicked the one who was still dumbly watching Jane. “Stop, stop. Please. Can’t you see?” Then I saw he was missing a leg. I felt bad but had no choice but to toss him off the train. I wrested the knife from the other one and threw him from the train too. On the floor near the money bag, I found a flyer advertising the National Hobo Convention in Britt, Iowa. “Look at this Jane. Must be where those guys are headed. If they make it, they’ll have a tale to tell of how they were red-lighted by a bank robber and his moll.” Jane just grinned and pulled that compact out again to freshen up her lipstick. I knew the authorities might stop and search the train somewhere along the line, so when it slowed coming into another burg like the one we lived in, we jumped off, and snuck off into an old abandoned barn just outside of town. After two, we figured it was time to get going again. It seemed absurd to have more money than we ever dreamed of and still not be able to buy anything to eat. We couldn’t show our faces because for sure they’d heard all about the robbery and would be on the lookout for us. If they put out any pictures of Jane, she’d be recognized wherever she went. I thought I’d better get her some baggy clothes as soon as possible. A long, slow, freight train came chug-chugging up the hill. We stumbled to the railroad tracks, and when the train came, it went so slow that we walked beside it. Good thing too because we’d become light-headed with hunger. We watched for an empty car, and this time I got in first. It was empty, and I reached out to haul Jane in. There must have been a bunch of bums riding in this car though because one corner was loaded with a pile of excrement. The stink and buzzing flies made me want to look for another car, but the train had picked up speed, so it was too late to change. We sat near the open doors to keep the flies and stink at bay until we got to St Louis Missouri. In a city that size, we wouldn’t be recognized. When the train slowed down in an industrial area, we jumped off and walked until we found a second-hand store. “I ain’t wearing this baggy crap,” Jane said, pissed because I made her wear men’s clothing two sizes too big. It finally penetrated her thick skull after I repeatedly whispered to her how easy she’d be to spot wearing her usual tight fitting dresses. Next, we went to a greasy spoon where factory workers like us congregated for lunch, and ate like pigs. When our plates were clean, I asked Jane if she was upset because of what had happened. “Hell no, this is the most exciting time I’ve ever had.” “What about the sheriff and deputies we killed?” “If we didn’t do it, those other guys sure as hell would have.” If it didn’t bother her, I wouldn’t let it get to me. I pushed all those dead men to the back of my mind and closed it off. We bought a car that day, just a cheapie. I didn’t want to attract attention by buying a newer one for cash. That old $200 clunker made it all the way to California. It was easy to pick up ID’s after that. This all happened ten years ago. That $500,000 payroll money sure has made life a lot easier for us. Though a little boring, our lives are pleasant enough. We own a little place in Venice Beach that gains value every year. I couldn’t hold a job because I get flashbacks of that gun going off and blowing a hole in the sheriff, so I took up painting and sell pictures at the boardwalk. Jane never wants to talk about the robbery, so she can act like it never happened. With her good looks, she gets bit parts in movies and modeling underwear for Frederick’s of Hollywood. She still looks good and hopes to make it big. Things are about as good as they get. It was a typical sunny Southern California day whenI sat in front of my easel on the boardwalk at Venice Beach painting away. This kid walked over to watch me paint. “Hope you don’t mind me watching you paint,” he said. I turned to look at him. He looked to be about twenty, same as I was during the great bank robbery. “Not at all,” I answered. “You’re good.” “Thanks for saying so. I’m good enough to sell this stuff to tourists, but I don’t come close to being a real artist.” “That’s not true. When’s the last time you compared your work with a ‘real artist?” “Never. I just know I’m not that good.” “When’s the last time you went to the Getty Museum?” I’d often thought about going, but hadn’t gotten around to it. “Never,” I said. “So pack up your stuff. Let’s drive over there right now.” There was something about the kid that compelled me to go with him. His luxury car was parked in the oceanfront parking lot. He helped me load my easel and paints into the trunk, and it wasn’t long until we’d sped up Highway 1 and into the hills up to the museum buildings. “By the way, name’s Jeff,” he said as he paid the entry fee at a toll booth. “Hey. My name’s José,” I said, giving him the name on my phony ID. No one other than Jane knew my real name, and even I’d almost forgotten it. “Where you from Jeff?” “I’m studying art at Santa Monica College.” He didn’t answer my question, but I thought nothing of it. “Okay. So show me what artists you think I may be as good as.” Jeff pointed out picture after picture and told me how my techniques and color selections were far superior to those million dollar masterpieces. I knew better, but he seemed to think seriously I was up to snuff. Got to admit it felt good to have an admirer. By the end of the day, Jeff had me believing I was a lot better artist than I gave myself credit for. The next day, Jeff showed up at the Venice Beach pier with his easel and paints. “Hi, José, mind if I sit behind you and try to copy what you paint?” “Go ahead.” The tourists all liked pictures of the pier with the waves breaking near it, with the sun setting in the background, a combination that usually only took a couple of hours to finish. When I was close to done, I looked over my shoulder and saw Jeff had finished one canvas and was working on another. I walked over to see what his painting looked like. He was good, real good. Better than me by far. I told him that, and he didn’t believe me. I liked this kid. “Jeff, why don’t you come to my house for dinner?” “Sure, what time?” “Seven and bring your girlfriend if you want.” “I don’t have one,” Jeff said. “I’ll have the wife bring one of her friends from work then.” That night while I cooked dinner, I met Jane’s friend. She was good looking enough but was one of those freaks Jane had been hanging out with lately. The films Jane appered in were getting into bizarre territory, and her new friends were strange, even by Venice Beach standards. Her friend had tattoos up and down her arms, something I felt that distracted from her beauty. Women just didn’t get tattoos unless they worked at a carnival or something. One of the tattoos was a heart with Satan framed in the middle of it. “Does that heart mean you love the Devil?” I asked. “Yeah, sure does.” She picked up a bloody piece of beef from my frying pan and swallowed it. I didn’t think Jeff was going to appreciate her. When she took the beer Jane offered her back to the living room, I whispered to Jane, “What’s her name?” “Saturn.” “That’s a strange name for a woman,” I said. The doorbell rang, and Jeff stood there looking like a Midwestern hick with his sports jacket, button down shirt and a matching tie, accented by a sharp crease in his pants. Oh yeah, and shined leather shoes, with a bunch of flowers in his hand too. I wanted to paint this picture right then. I would have if I didn’t think he’d be embarrassed. The rest of us were wearing what we always did, shorts, sandals, and a T-shirt if it wasn’t too hot for the t-shirt. Jane made introductions, and it was obvious Saturn liked what she saw. “Anybody want a beer?” I asked. “Sure,” they all answered at once. I got four beers and distributed them. Jane started hanging on Jeff’s arm. Saturn sauntered over and held the other arm in a death grip. “I’ve watched every film you’ve made, Saturn; I even know most of your lines.” Then he repeated some lines from the recent horror / soft porn flick she appeared in. True to her nature, was all about Devil worshippers and occult rituals. Jeff had the scenes down pat. “Why don’t you come to the studio and try out?” Saturn purred, running a painted nail up and down his arm. “Try out for what?” “We’re filming on location, and they need a keeper in this old castle filled with medieval torture equipment.” “You’ve got to be kidding! My father was a history nut and collected junk like that.” Jeff described how his father had taught him to operate every piece of equipment. He knew how long it normally took a person to die while subjected to each torture. “They kept meticulous records in those days, so they could be certain the victim didn’t die before they gave up the desired information, or that the punishment was long enough for the crime.” “Since you know all about the equipment, it’ll help you get the job,” Jane chimed in. “Saturn and I will put in a good word for you too.” I just didn’t like where this was going. I knew Jane had been on this horror show, but that was show business. You do what you do. Since starting that show over a year ago, she had a whole new set of friends. Most of them like Saturn, not as pretty, but as marked up with tattoos pierced bodies and the weirdest way of dressing. Then again, here in Venice almost anything goes. “Where do you guys perform the human sacrifices?” I asked, in an attempt to be humorous. All I got was a cold stare from six eyes. Things went on as normal, well, normal for us, for a few weeks. Then Jeff invited Jane and I to spend a weekend in his cabin up in Northern California. We left on Friday. “How long a drive is it?” Jane asked. “Ten to twelve hours, depending on the weather,” Jeff answered. “I didn’t know California was that big,” I said. “I’m practically on the Oregon border,” he said. “Look at the size of those trees,” I said as we drove by some sequoias. Jeff turned off the main road a few miles past the patch of redwoods. “My cabin is the only one for ten miles in any direction. You can scream your head off all day up here, and no one will ever hear you.” I thought that was a strange choice of words, but I learned early on in California that you never know what’s going to come out of a person’s mouth. Jane and I were both surprised by the size of the “cabin.” It was at least a three thousand square foot house. “How the hell do you maintain something this size?” I asked Jeff. “I have a housekeeper,” he answered. When we reached the front door, an older woman who had her face covered with a hijab, the headscarf that Arab women wear, opened it. I wondered if an Arab could have ice blue eyes. Jeff told her hello and kissed the top of her head. Strange behavior, I thought, kissing the help. Jeff showed us to our bedroom on the second floor, a sunlit room with a French door leading to a wraparound balcony outside. We stepped onto the balcony to gaze at the breathtaking view. The house faced a valley filled with trees extending for miles in all directions. “Get freshened up, and I’ll show you the rest of the house when you’re ready.” Like our room, the rest of the house was well kept and nicely furnished. The surprise sat in the basement where Jeff had his father’s medieval collection of torture devices. These weren’t just in storage but were in good working order, ready for action. “You use these pretty often?” I asked. The corners of Jeff’s mouth went up, but his eyes didn’t smile. “No, I’m saving them for a special occasion.” I didn’t know how to take that answer. About now I was starting to regret traveling to the middle of nowhere with someone I hardly knew. A bell rang softly, interrupting my thought. “That’s dinner, let’s go eat,” Jeff said. The scent of roast beef floated down the stairs to greet us as we started up. My stomach urged me forward because it smelled so good. We seated ourselves in the dining room, another sunny room filled with plants and windows. The woman in the hijab waited on us, never saying a word. Her intense blue eyes locked onto me and never looked away once. The food and the wine were superb. Between us, we shared three bottles. When we became tired, Jeff helped me upstairs, and the woman helped Jane up. I’ve seen plenty of horror movies in my day, but I never witnessed a scene as terrifying as the one I awakened to. I found myself strapped to an embalming table. Jane was nude, chained to the wall in front of me. What Jeff said about screaming your head off all day made sense now. The woman with ice-blue eyes sat in a rocking chair, without the hijab this time. She had no jawbones, and I could see past her rows of teen and deep into her throat. How could someone live without a mouth, I wondered. Jane was still unconscious, and I knew we’d been drugged. Panicky, I asked myself over and over how I could have been so stupid to get us into this situation. Jeff smirked as he threw water on Jane to wake her. “I want her to be aware of what’s happening,” he said. The water did the trick, and she woke up screaming. “I know you’re wondering what’s going on, and I’m going to tell you as soon as I put you in a more receptive mood.” Jeff picked up a scalpel and walked to where I lay. He ran his fingers along one side of my ribcage. “Your kidney should be right about here.” He traced a line with his finger at kidney level and cut a gash across my back. I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Now that you’re in the right frame of mind, we can talk,” Jeff murmured, staring at his handiwork. “Talk hell,” I screamed, “I’m bleeding to death.” Jeff smirked and patted me on the hand. “No, at the rate you’re bleeding, it will take approximately three hours for you to bleed to death.” “The pain is awful,” I screamed. “Your pain is just beginning.” I looked at the faceless woman. Her ice-blue eyes held a chilling smile. I half-expected her to come over and take the next cut. Jeff pulled a video camera and tripod from a shelf. “I nearly forgot,” he said. “For posterity. We’ll watch you suffer long after you’re gone.” Jane looked at the camera so calmly; I wondered if she thought she was on a movie set. “Why?” I cried out. “Why are you doing this?” “Think back, ‘Jose.’ What’ve you done to deserve this?” The nerves that Jeff cut wouldn’t allow me to forget the pain. It got worse and worse until the back of my mind creaked open. I recalled that day in the bank ten years ago. That teller who cried during the robbery. I always thought he was a wimp, so I held my tears by biting my tongue so hard it bled. I wasn’t about to tell this sadist what happened. “I’ve never done anything to deserve something like this.” “Thought you got away clean, huh?” Jeff asked. “I saw your wife in an “art” – uh, porno film when I was twelve years old. I knew who she was, and how to find her, but I didn’t want to see you go to prison. I wanted to take care of you the way my dad always said criminals should be handled. Put them on the rack, was his favorite saying. Most people thought he was joking, but he wasn’t. He taught me how to use all the equipment, and built this house so we could bring unconvicted criminals here and put them on the rack.” This psycho would kill us. I couldn’t see a way out. Jeff aimed the camera at me while he explained what was in store for me next. “I’m going to cut out one of your kidneys, and mom is going to fry it up for your wife’s dinner.” Jane began to sob. “I’m going to inject you with carbocyanine, a local anesthetic that’ll act as a nerve block, so you don’t pass out or go into shock. I want you awake and aware so you’ll know what’s happening. And you needn’t worry, it won’t kill you.” Once he injected my spine with the anesthetic, I knew he told the truth. The pain faded away, and I almost felt for a moment that I didn’t care what happened. His “mom” walked to the camera and steadied it while looking through the viewfinder to be sure she caught all the action while Jeff cut out my kidney. The horror of the situation hit me again even though I couldn’t feel the knife. I screamed, screamed, and screamed again. It didn’t appear to affect anyone, including Jane. She deflated against the wall, gazing through me like some cartoon character. Had Jeff had given her something else or had she’d fallen into deeper shock? Jeff threw my kidney onto a scale. “Your kidney is about 10 cm long, 5.5 cm in width, about 3 cm thick, and weighs 150 grams.” “Please, Jeff stop,” I begged for the first time in my life. He ignored me and turned to the camera. “It’s deep red in color. This is normal for an older adult. If he were younger, it should be much paler in color. This one is firm with a rich even color, so it should taste fine once I cut the fat off.” “How would you like it cooked?” he asked Jane. “You can have it braised, broiled, simmered, or cooked in a casserole. A stew? Maybe you’d like kidney pie?” He laughed. “Kidneys are a good source of protein, iron, phosphorus, vitamin A, thiamine, and riboflavin.” He gave the pan with the kidney in it to his mother and told her to cook it any way she wanted, since we weren’t answering his questions. She headed for the kitchen. “This is inhumane,” I screamed. “Inhumane, you asshole. See my mother’s face? That’s inhumane, and you did that to her by killing my father and two uncles.” “I’ve never seen your mother before.” “You didn’t have to. After you had killed her entire family other than me, she had a breakdown, and tried to commit suicide by blowing her brains out. She changed her mind at the last instant and pulled the gun away from her brain It blew away her jaw instead. Now that’s inhumane to do that to someone who has never hurt anyone in her entire life.” She was certainly making up for it now. Then the smell hit me, fried kidney. It smelled pretty good. I must be nuts to even have a thought like that. The injection was wearing off. Pain began to creep up and done my back like a rodent. I did my best to remain silent or risk setting the monster off again. He set up a card table in front of me and fetched a folding chair from the closet. Then he loosened Jane’s chains and helped her into the chair. “I hope you’re hungry because dinner’s almost ready.” “She’ll never eat my liver,” I yelled. Jeff looked at me with disdain burning in his eyes. “If she doesn’t, you’ll be eating hers.” I couldn’t believe my ears. I heard his mother padding down the stairs, and the smell of fried kidney and onions filled the room. She placed the plate directly in front of Jane. “Eat it or your kidney will be frying in fifteen minutes.” His mother recorded every instant with the video camera. It got real quiet. I could hear my heart and my labored breathing as all eyes fixed on Jane. What will she do, I wondered, what can she do? What would I do if Jeff serv4ed me her kidney? I couldn’t even conceive what I’d do. We all waited. Slowly Jane picked up the knife and fork. She held them in mid-air for a moment. Then the weight of gravity seemed to pull the utensils downward. She sliced off a tiny piece and put it in her mouth. I could see the surprise in her eyes. She liked it. That bitch was going to enjoy eating my kidney. I knew I was right when the next slice was a good sized one that she popped into her mouth and chewed vigorously. “Want to try it?” she asked Jeff. “No, I’m a vegetarian. I don’t believe in being cruel to animals.” I couldn’t believe what I heard. “How about cruelty to humans?” “I’m not cruel. I’m just making sure you pay a debt you owe.” “OK. I’ve paid dearly already, let’s call it even, Just let us go.” “You haven’t even begun to pay,” he said. “I’ve been watching you and your wife for years now.” Jane polished off my kidney. “Can I have a glass of water?” she asked in a high, thin voice. “Notice how eating human flesh doesn’t bother your wife? I followed her for years too, witnessing the weird things she does. Like attending Satanic ceremonies. They have a human sacrifice and eat body parts.” I looked at Jane, waiting for her denial. “I got bored with all that beach shit.” she said. “You painting pictures all the time. So I hunted up some excitement.” I knew she was capable of anything. She never had a conscience. It was her sexuality that stopped me from thinking about what kind of person she really was. “Jeff,” she said. “Instead of recording this stuff on that cheap ass video recorder, why don’t we call the film crew from L.A.?” Good girl, I thought, using her head now, trying to get us some help. “Come on, Jeff, you’ll be a movie star. Make lots of money. Hell, more than enough money to buy your mom a new face.” “Do you really think I could get her a new face?” Bent on revenge, he never considered this before. A spark of hope rose out of my despair. “Of course. Nowadays plastic surgeons can do almost anything.” “Clean José’s wound and give him something to kill the pain,” he told his mom. “We need him in good shape when they get here. We’ll get this properly recorded and fix you up after selling this film.” His mom nodded and pulled out another syringe and a vial of painkiller. “Okay, Jose, but if you’re thinking of trying to get away, you can forget it. I’ll put the whole crew on the rack before you get out of here.” He cleaned and sutured my cut while his mother injected a drug. It made everything go blurry and then black. I awoke to the sound of Saturn’s voice. “Wow Jeff, you’ve really got a great setup here. This is better than the studio any day. Hell, we can make all our films here.” A big grin sliced through Jeff’s face. Thank God, I thought. Help at last. Saturn brought two guys who started to set up cameras and lighting equipment all over the place. I wondered if they knew what the hell they were doing, but remained silent. Jane held a script in her hand and talked to Jeff as if he was a director. “Go through the minor tortures first. Build momentum by increasing the pain gradually. We need it to last two hours before you put on this costume.” She held out a bright red leotard with matching t-shirt and a devil’s mask. “Let’s get your mom’s face in this scene. That’ll be the icing on the cake. No one’s ever had an actress look like she does.” She waved the cameraman over. “Try to get the camera down her throat.” What the hell? Why didn’t someone call the police? At least unstrap me from this table? Then I overheard the cameraman. “This sure beats the hell out of using those homeless assholes from downtown.” “Jane,” I called desperately. She was looking in that damn mirror of hers, fixing her lipstick. She applied another coat of lipstick, rubbed her lips together, and checked her teeth for smears. Only then did she saunter to my side. “What?” “Are you going to get me out of here or what?” “You know the old saying?” “What old saying?” I practically screamed. “The show must go on.” For more stories, poems, & other stuff. http://joedibuduo.com/ http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=joe+DiBuduo My newest novel “Cryonic Man,”is available at http://www.amazon.com/Cryonic-Man-Paranormal-Joe-DiBuduo/dp/0692381287/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1425870872&sr=8-1&keywords=Cryonic+Man PLEASE SUBSCRIBE FOR$1. A MONTH TO ENABLE ME TO CONTINUE WRITING A STORY A DAY. IF I CONTINUE FOR A YEAR, I WILL WRITE 365 STORIES. You'll receive them all for $1. A month. https://www.patreon.com/creation?hid=1772333&u=423048&alert=3