Monsieur la Viande
This story was originally supposed to be about a medieval court jester, but it ended up being slightly more modern than I intended, so I kind of just let the story write itself, and it ended up going in a completely different direction than I thought it would. Monsieur la Viande was written in November of 2025. I’m not as sure about the ending as I was when I originally wrote it a few months ago, I think I had a good idea, but wasn’t entirely sure how to execute it. I guess all that means is I can figure out how to improve with future works :)
“Please state your name.”
“Logan. Logan Merit.”
“And how old are you, Mr. Merit?
‘Twenty.”
The woman looked at her partner and muttered something to him. He whispered something back and the two shared a strange expression. I didn’t like when people talked about me behind my back. Or right in front of me but too quiet to hear, that was just as bad.
“What?” I asked. “Is there a problem?” The woman cleared her throat and turned a page in her notebook.
“You’re twenty?” she asked skeptically.
“Yes.” I said. “Is there a problem?”
“Um…” She looked at her partner again, as if looking for some kind of confirmation before speaking. “It says here that you’ve been arrested ten times for minor crimes.” She looked at me almost concerned. “That would mean that your entire life, you’ve been arrested every two years on average.” She looked worried. Scared. I smiled.
“Give or take.” I said. “I got sent to Juvenile Detention when I was nine, for murdering a classmate after he pushed me off the wooden play structure.” The woman seemed to choke, and the man raised his eyebrows.
“Oh?” She asked. She for some reason seemed to be at a loss for words. “That, uh… that would bring the average up to once a year, give or take.”
“Give or take.” I agreed again. “Don’t tell me that my record prevents you from hiring me.”
They shared yet another one of those strange looks. The man cleared his throat. “Well,” he started, “It is an… impressive record, but…”
“We simply can’t have someone with that kind of a criminal past.” His partner finished quickly. I smiled thinly at them.
“Oh.” I said, my smile growing wider. “Okay. That’s fine. You can’t hire me. I understand.” I chuckled and the woman took a step back.
“Have a nice day, Sir.” The man said to me. I smiled even wider.
“Oh believe me, I won’t. But I sincerely hope you do.” and with that I turned out the door and left. Another job, rejected because I was ‘dangerous’ and ‘bad news’. They didn’t even know me! How could they pretend that they did just because they looked at my file? Additionally- why and how did every company and workplace seem to have the same file of me, and by extension- why wasn’t I allowed to see it? I wanted to know what those pages said about me that made everyone so swift to turn me down. What- did it say that I murdered someone? We shall ignore the fact that I did, but everyone acts although it is such a bad thing. That child deserved it, he shouldn’t have pushed me. What was it that people called the golden rule again? ‘Treat others the way you would want to be treated’? If that’s true, then it was only natural that I retaliate against those who have the audacity to push me first. I was doing the world a service by ridding it of all those miscreants. I never even got caught doing anything. Save for when I killed my classmate in school, but I was merely nine years old so I got off without much punishment, and that time when I was eleven years old, but I was able to make it appear as an accident. And of course there was also that time when I was fourteen years old, but I simply pleaded insane and was sent to a psychiatric ward for two years.
None of which, if you’re wondering, should have made me unemployable. I would do just fine in a job if they just gave me a chance.
As I made my way home, I passed an elementary school, where the children were just getting out and being greeted by their parents or other guardians. It made me think of all the ones that I had been expelled from. I wondered if any of those children would grow up to murder.
I passed a hospital, not unlike the ones I had been sent to several times throughout my life. I’d always hated those places, calling me wretched things like ‘sick’ and ‘insane’. I’ll show them insane.
Finally, I passed a library. I stopped and considered for a moment. Libraries were one of the few places I had never been kicked out of. Yet. That could change at any time of course, but even the wards have had to transfer me to different locations due to me being ‘too problematic’.
I went inside the library.
This one had few people, not completely silent, but by no means loud either. Just a faint, quiet whisper. The librarian at the desk smiled at me. I stared at her for a moment before I remembered to smile back, simply because I had learned that smiling at people was the normal thing to do.
I made my way towards the back, where the true crime books were. I had always loved reading about true crime, that is, if I read anything. Several of the therapists and psychiatrists that I had been forced to see had told me that reading books could be very good for me. They never exactly specified what kinds of books I should read, and I found that learning about real criminals and murders was actually quite relaxing. I had recently finished a book all about Sawney Bean, which made me wonder if human flesh was actually quite tasty. It must. have been, if he ate so much of it. Perhaps he was onto something, and it could become a new fine delicacy. Just imagine! Freshly fried femur! I’m sure thigh flesh was quite tender, especially if. the person was fit. I wondered if bones were edible too, if so, then perhaps you truly could eat a fried femur. Or how about a boiled brain? Now that sounded good. Or a sauteed stomach? Ha! Imagine that! A stomach in your stomach!
I thought about the endless possibilities as I looked through the many books that the library had on true crime. Finally, I landed on one about Axlar-Björn.
Time seemed to fly past as I read about Iceland’s only known serial killer and before I knew it, the librarian was tapping my shoulder.
“Excuse me, Sir?” She asked in a sweet voice. I looked up.
“Hm?”
“I’m terribly sorry, you seem to be enjoying that book very much, but I’m afraid the library will be closing soon.”
“Closing?” I asked.
“Yes.” she said. “You’ll unfortunately need to leave, but if you like that book so much, you’re of course more than welcome to check it out and take it with you.”
I thought for a moment. “Does that cost any money here?” I asked, “Because I’m afraid I’m fresh out of that.” I was rather proud of myself for using the phrase ‘I’m afraid’ as I had observed her doing just a moment before. A perfectly crafted regular sentence. I was getting quite good at this.
The librarian smiled kindly. “Oh. dear, having trouble with money are we? I’m terribly sorry to hear that, but I can gladly tell you that checking out a book from us will cost you no money at all! Just as long as you return the book before the due date, we won’t charge you a cent.”
“Oh. Well alright then.” I stood up and remembered to smile again. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She smiled warmly. “Oh you are very welcome.”
The librarian brought out a clipboard and asked me to sign my name, the date, and the name and author of the book. Once I had finished, I remembered to smile once more, and left the library. I thought for a moment about what had happened. I had never been kicked out of a library for any behavior reasons. Did being asked to leave because they were closing count? No. It shouldn’t. I decided it didn’t.
When I got back to my apartment, I stopped at the door. In yellowed paper, a sign had been plastered. I barely read it, I merely skimmed it to confirm it was the same as the one they had put up last week, and the week before that. They were going to evict me if I didn’t pay the rent soon. I had of course tried explaining to them that I wasn’t paying the rent because I was unable to get a job anywhere. According to them, that wasn’t their problem. Absurd! If you ask me, they should really let all of their tenants live there for free, why not?
I went inside and fell onto my couch. I stared at the ceiling. Money. I needed money. But where to get money? I thought about the homeless beggars I had passed on the road nearly everyday. Holding up handmade signs that read “Need a septim! Whatever can be spared!” How pathetic. That they would need to express their helplessness so publicly. I would never be in their position, I was simply better than that.
I fell asleep right there on the couch, forgetting to get up to eat supper, and finding myself quite hungry the next morning. Alas, I realized that there was scarce any food in the pantry, save for a single loaf of bread, which I had no desire to eat. I was still wearing my shoes, as I had forgotten to take them off the previous night, so I simply headed back out for yet another likely unsuccessful day of searching for a job.
As I walked down the street, with no destination in particular, I noticed a caravan making its way down the road, in my direction. As it passed, I noticed that it was a circus caravan. The side read: LILLETH’S DWELABOW CIRCUS. Lilleth’s Dwelabow? What a curious name I thought to myself. What’s a ‘Dwelabow’? And who’s Lilleth? I decided to follow it, after all, I had little better to do.
The caravan was not moving very fast, which suggested that it was merely going through town as a means of advertising. Still, I was curious about the caravan’s destination. I walked for a long while, with the caravan some distance in front of me. Eventually it turned down a dirt road that I couldn’t remember ever being there before. Down that road I followed it for a few minutes before it stopped. I hid behind a tree some ways back in order to observe what was happening. Many people filed out of the caravan, much more than I would have thought possible to fit. There had to have been nearly two hundred people that came out of that caravan, some were freakishly tall, others were very short, I saw a few that couldn’t have possibly been taller than two feet tall, while others seemed to be pushing seven or eight feet. Some were very skinny, almost sickly to the bone, some even thinner, and others were very large, and many inbetween. All of them were wearing circus makeup and attire. I watched the strange people as they. grabbed supplies from the caravan that could not possibly have fit with all of them, and they began to build. I saw that they were pitching tents, putting up carnival games, and setting up signs and banners. I noticed many of said signs and banners seemed to be in a different language, and not one that I had ever seen before.
Were these people some kind of pop up circus group? If that was so, then where did they come from? I had certainly never heard of them before, not that I paid much attention to local circuses anyway, but such a strange group I was sure I should have heard at least something of.
I watched with a curious awe as they built a whole circus in a matter of minutes. I gaped at the scene in front of me. They had set a large overhead sign on the path to pass under, said path was lined with games and booths for all kinds of things: cornhole, a dunk tank, bowling, and many other carnival games, many I recognized, but many I did not. They had a face painting booth, a photo booth, a dancing game, what looked to be karaoke with a large gramophone and a whole shelf full of music vinyls. There were small performance stages, like a tight rope, a juggler, a tall thin man with a bright green mask in a bright orange and purple onesie rode a vibrant yellow unicycle. Everything was just as colorful as that. Bright neon reds, yellows, oranges, greens, purples, and every color in between was everywhere. I then noticed the colorful neon lights that were strung over everything, as mesmerizing as it was now, I could only imagine what it would look like come night time, when the world would be dark and the carnival would glow in a thousand different colors.
Everything seemed to be positioned to call attention to the focal point of it all, the main attraction, what the show was clearly all about; a large tent, nearly three stories high and so wide it would have taken up at least half a city block. The fabric had large stripes of blood red and vibrant royal purple, and from where I was standing, I could see an intricate monochromatic pattern within each of the stripes. There were even more neon lights surrounding this tent than any other tent around.
I was so busy gawking, I did not notice a small girl had approached me until she tapped my shoulder. I turned, and was startled by the girl’s snow white hair, so bright it seemed to glow against her equally pale skin. She wore a mask that was so dark it seemed to be a black hole that killed all light. The only obstruction was two eye holes, just large enough for me to see her eyes, which were a very bright purple. Her eyes appeared to be very large behind the mask, if I were to judge by the way they filled the small holes completely. She wore pure white pants that came above her belly button, with a pure white shirt that appeared to be cropped, so that a small bit of her stomach was visible. The girl also wore an equally pure white cape, at least it was white on the outside, the inside of the cape was the same dark void as her mask. She seemed to be wearing boots, but they were just as black so that I could not see any details. The girl cocked her head curiously.
“Oh, hello.” I said, unsure of what I should say. Would she be mad that I had been watching them secretly? The girl took a performative bow and reached behind her. As if pulled from the cape’s void itself, she produced a small box that was tied up with a ribbon. When she pulled one end of it, the box undid itself and became a sort of serving dish. Upon it were pieces of cut meat, of which I counted eighteen. I recalled from the story of Axlar-Björn that I had read just the day before that a stranger in a dream had served to him pieces of cut meat on a plate, of which he ate eighteen; a strange type of foreshadowing to the eighteen people that he would later go on to kill, give or take.
The girl seemed aware of my recognition, and although I could not see her face, the air around her seemed to change in such a way that I felt she was pleased with me. She turned her head slightly, as if gesturing to the circus, then offered the meat to me. Somehow, although no words were spoken, I understood what was happening. I took a single piece of meat and ate it.
The meat was raw, and I could taste blood from it as I chewed. It was a strange flavor, but one that I did not mind. After I had swallowed, I ate another one; I again tasted blood, and this time, I almost enjoyed the taste. It went on like that, as I cleared the dish of meat.
Once I had finished, I asked: “What was that I just ate?” The girl took another performative bow, and this time, touched the box to heart. A sweet wave of delicious nausea filled me as I understood yet again her silent air. “Thank you, M’lady.” I said, as I returned the bow. I know not why, as such formalities were usually foreign to me; I never understood them, and yet for some reason, I felt the compelling need to address this girl as if she were royalty.
She looked up at the sign that stood overhead, and I followed her gaze. I was surprised to find that I could now read the strange language it was written in, that had before looked gibberish to me. Now I saw that it read in French: Cloches de la mort du saule, which despite the fact that I could not speak French, I was able to translate further to: Willow Death Bells.
I turned my gaze back to the girl. “Willow Deathbells?” I asked, “What does that mean?” In response, the girl yet again used her head to gesture towards the caravan, which was now parked off towards the side, out of the way from the carnival. I read the name once more.
“‘Lilleth’s Dwelabow… Willow Deathbells… Ah! I see, it’s an anagram! The letters have been rearranged! By the stars, that must mean that the true name of this place is Willow Deathbells Circus, isn’t it? But what exactly does that mean?”
No verbal answer was given, but the girl queued for me to follow her. She led me down the main path in the middle, which led directly to the large purple and red tent that stood in the center of the carnival. As we walked, I took in the scene around me, the bright colors, the neon lights, and all the strange people who now looked at me curiously. Those without masks gave me mysterious grins that seemed to be full of amusement and anticipation; those with masks merely faced my direction, but they still gave an aura of curious waiting. I followed the girl inside the tent.
Once inside, all noise ceased to be, and I was standing in a deafening silence. The girl had vanished, and I was standing in an aisle between rows of hundreds of chairs, filled with an audience just as strange as the performers outside. I had not seen anyone else enter the tent, so I was sure I had no idea where this audience had come from or how they had gotten there. Lights were strung high above, so that this strange audience was bathed in a dark purple and red light. The large circular stage in the middle, which was so dark, I couldn’t even be sure that it was a stage, and not merely a black hole, had the brightest lights around it, although still purple and red in color, they did nothing to light up the surface of the stage, but merely the air around it.
That was when I noticed a single chair, that seemed to be the only one that was empty in the tent. I approached it and looked for a moment at the person it was next to. They seemed oddly devoid of color, as if someone had turned their saturation down; looking around, I saw that the rest of the audience was the same; not quite grey, but very little color remained; the most color on them came from the lights far above that shown faintly on them. They all smiled, big, unnatural smiles as if they were seeing the greatest thing that they could imagine. All of their eyes looked straight ahead, unblinking and unmoving, wide as they could be, not exactly devoid of life, but by no means full of it. All fixed on the stage. I sat down, and the show began.
In an instant, the girl appeared on stage, standing perfectly still, her black boots seemed to disappear in the void of the stage, along with her cape and mask so all I could see were the rest of her pure white clothes, skin, hair, and of course, those glowing purple eyes. She faced my exact direction and I understood yet again. I was her audience. This was for me.
I watched as she leaped up, high into the air and flipped; once, twice, three times, five times, seven times. She landed gracefully and soundlessly on her hands and did a hand spring, no, four hand springs. She continued, doing cartwheels, and springs, and flips with such impressive grace and ease I found myself utterly mesmerised, unable to look away. Again she jumped, and this time landed on a tightrope high in the air that I was sure had not been there before, and that I could not see either end of. She landed on the toes of one foot and raised the other. A cartwheel, then a handstand; she leaped again —
I do not know how long the show lasted. I was so mesmerised that time seemed to stop completely and I found no other thoughts in my mind than watching this strange girl perform in a way that no such human could. Alas, when the show was finished, she landed perfect center just where she had begun, and took a bow. It was as she came up that I became aware of the fact that many hours had gone by. How had that happened?
Without applause, the audience stood up and left, still no sound was ever made, and as the rest of these strange people made their way out, I found myself making my way forward, towards the girl who stood ever motionless on the stage. As I approached, I found myself smiling again, as if overcome with a great joy that I could not place. I felt much like those audience members, larger smiles than they should have been able to manage, and wide eyes, glued on the fantastical girl in front of me.
She watched me as I approached, and I felt sure that she was judging me somehow, deciding if I was worthy. Worthy of what? Whatever it was, I wanted to show her that I was.
She didn’t speak, but her voice — or a voice at least, that spoke for her, was in my mind. I did not hear it exactly, but I knew what she was telling me with more certainty than I had ever known anything before. The strange thing was, it spoke in French, yet I again understood its meaning perfectly.
Well? Now you have seen. Now you know, deep down, you do. I cannot let you leave here as though this has never happened. You have been witness to something great; something your human mind was not supposed to. So now I ask: Will you join the audience? Will you be another wide smile that sits motionless to watch us perform, with no greater joy than myself? Or will you become one of us? You are not normal. That, I can see clearer than crystal. That may have been a problem wherever you came from, but here, it can be embraced. You need not respond to the question, for I already know your answer. I knew it when I first saw you hiding by the tree. I saw the curiosity in your eyes. You wanted to know, and now, you do.
Take this, Monsieur la Viande, and gather us a new audience, one that will be special when you make your performance. Go deep, after all, we have surplus of seats. Find them, all of them. Bring them here, and when your performance is over, Monsieur la Viande will be the new name added to our ever growing troupe. I bid you adieu.
She bowed again, and when she removed her hand from her cape this time, she presented an axe. I smiled wider than I ever had, for in the dream, Axlar-Björn had been told of an axe on Mt. Axlarhyrna by the very same stranger who had served him the meat. Against logic, the axe had been just there when he set off to retrieve it, and became Axlar-Björn’s chosen instrument of killing.
I took the axe as though it were the most valuable thing on this planet. I was never used to treating objects with such care, but this was not an object. This was an artifact. I thought of the name that the girl had called me. Monsieur la Viande. What a splendid and fitting title, though not one that I should like to translate into English, for it loses its ring and elegance.
As I observed the axe in my hands I looked down at my old grey clothes. I had never had the desire to dress formal, I never saw the point, but it occurred to me that my clothes were not well fit for a circus. They were much too drab — much too grey, like the grey audience. That was not right. I was not one of those grey audience members. I was Monsieur la Viande, and I deserved to look like it.
As though reading my mind, the girl looked forward, almost to say:
Step through the curtain, and once you pass through, it will be final.
I did just that. I turned around and walked back down the aisle. It occurred to me that in the silence, I could hear my heartbeat. It was the only sound. A soft, gentle pulse that seemed to fill the entire space; all the way around the walls and as high as the peak of the tent. thmp, thmp, thmp.
The sound had not just appeared. It had been there for a while. When had I become able to hear my heartbeat? I knew it had not been there when I first entered the great tent. It did not matter, as I exited through the very same curtain I had entered through.
At once, sound returned, and I was hit with the deafening noise of life. The wind, blowing the leaves in the trees. I could hear every footstep, every breath. I looked down and saw that my clothes had somehow been changed. I was now wearing brown dress pants that had a reddish hue to them, each leg had a different monochromatic pattern, not unlike the stripes on the tent that I had just left. Below that were tall black boots, with a curled toe and fancy heel. I also knew that I was now wearing a blood red suit top, with a tinted dress shirt under. Over that I wore a long jacket, that felt a bit like a cape. Atop my head I feel a top hat, which taking off, I saw was a dark red as well. Each thing had its own intricate pattern sewn into it, and I felt as though I belonged just where I was in the carnival.
But I had a mission. I knew what I needed to do to finalize everything — to finally be free from my past and escape the world of. reality which I had come from.
I put the axe behind me, which I felt be concealed within my long coat. I then made my way back on the path which I had followed the caravan down, and back into the city which I had left just that day. I thought of where to go first, and came to the very same building that I had left in such a state the day before. I walked in and promptly found the man and the woman who had rejected to hire me. A look of confusion flashed on the woman’s face as she saw me and tapped her partner on his shoulder for his attention. I strode up to them with a wide smile, which had been on my face so long, I did not think it possible to stop.
I reached them and bowed. “Bonjour, monsieur et madame.” I had never been able to speak French, yet the accent came more naturally than anything before. The woman gave an uneasy and strangely awkward smile.
“Ah, Mr… Merit, was it?” She asked, glancing at her partner.
“It was.” I confirmed. “But I have a new name now, and a new job. Call me la Viande.”
“La Viande…” She repeated, failing to mimic the accent correctly, as she did not even try. “Well, ‘la Viande’, I’m glad to hear that you were able to be hired elsewhere in such short time…” I smiled at her unease. Her unsureness.
“As a thank you for everything, I would like to personally invite you to a very special event at my new work. One that I would love for you to see, after all, if it wasn’t for your rejection, I would not have found this new place that I feel so much joy at.”
“Oh — uh,” the woman did not seem to know what to do with this invitation. “I — well I’m honored that you have thought to invite us personally. That’s very generous, and, uh, I’m glad I could help you find this new opportunity… I guess.”
I smiled wider still. “So what will it be?”
“I — ” I had the unpleasant feeling that she was about to reject me yet again, and I instinctively placed my hand upon her shoulder, though I know not why. A strange expression came across her face. “I — I would love to.” She said, although she seemed rather pained to admit it. Good, I thought. All the better.
“And what about you, my good sir?” I asked the man, placing my other hand upon his shoulder in the same way. The man cleared his throat painfully.
“Yes, I — I too would be delighted to attend.”
“Wonderful.” I said, then promptly turned and went out the door. I did not tell them where to go, yet I knew I would see them there.
Two down, I thought, God knows how many more to go. I spent the rest of the day making my jolly way through the city, coming to old friends and coworkers. Everyone that I once knew was to be invited, this was, after all, a very special event, and no one shall miss it.
Finally, I came to an old cottage away from the city. It had many flowers in the window boxes, and a dirt path lined with stones leading to a door that was painted yellow. I suppose that. some people would have found this to be a rather cute little settlement. I personally found no joy from it. It was merely the location of the final member of my audience. Nothing more.
I knocked upon the little yellow door. It opened, and the woman standing in front of me had a look of priceless disbelief as she stared at me.
“Hello, mother.”
My mother stared at me. “Oh my. Logan… is-is that you?”
“The very same, mother.” I told her. “Although my name is Monsieur la Viande now, so I suppose I’m not the very same, am I?”
“M-Monsieur? La Viande, my, whatever does that mean? Have you been learning French?” She asked.
“Best not to translate it.” I said. “As for the French, no. This knowledge was gifted to me along with my new identity.”
“New identity? Why, Logan my boy now I’m sure you’ve lost it.” Mother opened her mouth to say something else, but I spoke first.
“Mother. The reason that I have come here to see you today was not to visit. I have a new job, you see, and there is to be a very special event tonight. I would like to personally invite you, yes you, to attend.”
Mother cleared her throat. “Oh, my dear Logan. Why, yes, of course I would love to support my son. But where did you possibly find that would hire you?”
“That’s just it!” I exclaimed. “I was not hired, you see, but chosen. They chose me to be the one and only Monsieur la Viande. And be him I shall! So, what do you say, mother?”
“Well, I already said yes. They chose you to be er-‘Monsieur la Viande’? Does that mean that you’re some type of mascot? Is that why you’re wearing that ridiculous outfit?”
“Mascot?” I laughed so loud, my mother flinched in front of me. “Stars, no! I am not, and could not ever be a mascot. Of course, how could I expect a simple woman like you to understand? Come see me tonight, mother, and you will understand. Everyone will understand.”
I believe I turned and left after that, although I cannot be sure. I have only a vague recollection of making my way back through the city and returning down the dirt pathway that led me to Willow Deathbells Circus.
As I passed under the large sign — written in a strange language which I now knew to be French that was translated into yet another language that I now knew to be called Aol — they were waiting for me. The entire circus; all of them, standing, almost at attention in their own way, watching me, eagerly.
I carried myself with pride as I strode past them. I looked at them only in my peripheral. I was more than them. They did not deserve any more attention than the edge of my vision.
My guests were not here yet. That I knew. No, they needed time to get here, and we needed time to prepare. After all, it was not traditional to see the performer before the performance.
It was to take place at sundown. In the dark. Yes. So that the lights could glow as bright as they possibly could. That was the only way. It was the only thing that would be acceptable.
I entered the great tent. I knew that those outside were moving to be ready now. Good. They better be.
I made my way to the stage. That stage. I would be performing on it soon. And it would be a grand performance. Such a grand performance.
It was not rehearsed. No. I did not need to rehearse. The act was perfect already. I had not done it yet. But I knew it would be perfect. It had to be perfect. Perfect. Perfect was the only way this could go. Perfect. No. It would not be perfect. It could not be perfect. It would be better than perfect. It had to be better than perfect. Divine. Yes. I liked that word. Divine. I liked how it sounded. Divine. Yes. It would be divine. It was going to be divine. It had to be divine.
I do not know what happened in those next hours. It does not matter what happened in those next hours. But finally. They came. My audience. They filled the tent. Not just any tent. The great tent. The Grand Tent. My Grand Tent. And they were my audience. Coming to see my performance. They came to see my performance. They all came. They all came to see my performance. They didn’t have to. They didn’t have to come to see my performance. Of course they didn’t have to come. They had a choice. Of course they had a choice. They all had a choice. They didn’t have to come. Of course they didn’t have to come. And yet they came. They all came. They were so polite. So respectful. They never made a sound. They did not speak. Because they were. So respectful. They all came. Went straight to their seats. Sat down. They all sat. and they watched, they looked onward. Onward. Only onward. And onward only. At me. Just me. Only me. They did not speak. They loved me. Loved me. They did. Who doesn’t. Love me. Because. I am. Monsieur la Viande. Everyone loves me. Everyone loves Monsieur la Viande. I am Monsieur la Viande. I am. Divine. It was divine. It had. To be. Divine. It could only. Be divine. Divine. They were not. Divine.they were not worthy. Not. of me. Worthy. Theywerenot. Actually. Cometothinkofit. Neither. areyou.
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“Please state your name.”
“Logan. Logan Merit.”
“And how old are you, Mr. Merit?
‘Twenty.”
The woman looked at her partner and muttered something to him. He whispered something back and the two shared a strange expression. I didn’t like when people talked about me behind my back. Or right in front of me but too quiet to hear, that was just as bad.
“What?” I asked. “Is there a problem?” The woman cleared her throat and turned a page in her notebook.
“You’re twenty?” she asked skeptically.
“Yes.” I said. “Is there a problem?”
“Um…” She looked at her partner again, as if looking for some kind of confirmation before speaking. “It says here that you’ve been arrested ten times for minor crimes.” She looked at me almost concerned. “That would mean that your entire life, you’ve been arrested every two years on average.” She looked worried. Scared. I smiled.
“Give or take.” I said. “I got sent to Juvenile Detention when I was nine, for murdering a classmate after he pushed me off the wooden play structure.” The woman seemed to choke, and the man raised his eyebrows.
“Oh?” She asked. She for some reason seemed to be at a loss for words. “That, uh… that would bring the average up to once a year, give or take.”
“Give or take.” I agreed again. “Don’t tell me that my record prevents you from hiring me.”
They shared yet another one of those strange looks. The man cleared his throat. “Well,” he started, “It is an… impressive record, but…”
“We simply can’t have someone with that kind of a criminal past.” His partner finished quickly. I smiled thinly at them.
“Oh.” I said, my smile growing wider. “Okay. That’s fine. You can’t hire me. I understand.” I chuckled and the woman took a step back.
“Have a nice day, Sir.” The man said to me. I smiled even wider.
“Oh believe me, I won’t. But I sincerely hope you do.” and with that I turned out the door and left. Another job, rejected because I was ‘dangerous’ and ‘bad news’. They didn’t even know me! How could they pretend that they did just because they looked at my file? Additionally- why and how did every company and workplace seem to have the same file of me, and by extension- why wasn’t I allowed to see it? I wanted to know what those pages said about me that made everyone so swift to turn me down. What- did it say that I murdered someone? We shall ignore the fact that I did, but everyone acts although it is such a bad thing. That child deserved it, he shouldn’t have pushed me. What was it that people called the golden rule again? ‘Treat others the way you would want to be treated’? If that’s true, then it was only natural that I retaliate against those who have the audacity to push me first. I was doing the world a service by ridding it of all those miscreants. I never even got caught doing anything. Save for when I killed my classmate in school, but I was merely nine years old so I got off without much punishment, and that time when I was eleven years old, but I was able to make it appear as an accident. And of course there was also that time when I was fourteen years old, but I simply pleaded insane and was sent to a psychiatric ward for two years.
None of which, if you’re wondering, should have made me unemployable. I would do just fine in a job if they just gave me a chance.
As I made my way home, I passed an elementary school, where the children were just getting out and being greeted by their parents or other guardians. It made me think of all the ones that I had been expelled from. I wondered if any of those children would grow up to murder.
I passed a hospital, not unlike the ones I had been sent to several times throughout my life. I’d always hated those places, calling me wretched things like ‘sick’ and ‘insane’. I’ll show them insane.
Finally, I passed a library. I stopped and considered for a moment. Libraries were one of the few places I had never been kicked out of. Yet. That could change at any time of course, but even the wards have had to transfer me to different locations due to me being ‘too problematic’.
I went inside the library.
This one had few people, not completely silent, but by no means loud either. Just a faint, quiet whisper. The librarian at the desk smiled at me. I stared at her for a moment before I remembered to smile back, simply because I had learned that smiling at people was the normal thing to do.
I made my way towards the back, where the true crime books were. I had always loved reading about true crime, that is, if I read anything. Several of the therapists and psychiatrists that I had been forced to see had told me that reading books could be very good for me. They never exactly specified what kinds of books I should read, and I found that learning about real criminals and murders was actually quite relaxing. I had recently finished a book all about Sawney Bean, which made me wonder if human flesh was actually quite tasty. It must. have been, if he ate so much of it. Perhaps he was onto something, and it could become a new fine delicacy. Just imagine! Freshly fried femur! I’m sure thigh flesh was quite tender, especially if. the person was fit. I wondered if bones were edible too, if so, then perhaps you truly could eat a fried femur. Or how about a boiled brain? Now that sounded good. Or a sauteed stomach? Ha! Imagine that! A stomach in your stomach!
I thought about the endless possibilities as I looked through the many books that the library had on true crime. Finally, I landed on one about Axlar-Björn.
Time seemed to fly past as I read about Iceland’s only known serial killer and before I knew it, the librarian was tapping my shoulder.
“Excuse me, Sir?” She asked in a sweet voice. I looked up.
“Hm?”
“I’m terribly sorry, you seem to be enjoying that book very much, but I’m afraid the library will be closing soon.”
“Closing?” I asked.
“Yes.” she said. “You’ll unfortunately need to leave, but if you like that book so much, you’re of course more than welcome to check it out and take it with you.”
I thought for a moment. “Does that cost any money here?” I asked, “Because I’m afraid I’m fresh out of that.” I was rather proud of myself for using the phrase ‘I’m afraid’ as I had observed her doing just a moment before. A perfectly crafted regular sentence. I was getting quite good at this.
The librarian smiled kindly. “Oh. dear, having trouble with money are we? I’m terribly sorry to hear that, but I can gladly tell you that checking out a book from us will cost you no money at all! Just as long as you return the book before the due date, we won’t charge you a cent.”
“Oh. Well alright then.” I stood up and remembered to smile again. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She smiled warmly. “Oh you are very welcome.”
The librarian brought out a clipboard and asked me to sign my name, the date, and the name and author of the book. Once I had finished, I remembered to smile once more, and left the library. I thought for a moment about what had happened. I had never been kicked out of a library for any behavior reasons. Did being asked to leave because they were closing count? No. It shouldn’t. I decided it didn’t.
When I got back to my apartment, I stopped at the door. In yellowed paper, a sign had been plastered. I barely read it, I merely skimmed it to confirm it was the same as the one they had put up last week, and the week before that. They were going to evict me if I didn’t pay the rent soon. I had of course tried explaining to them that I wasn’t paying the rent because I was unable to get a job anywhere. According to them, that wasn’t their problem. Absurd! If you ask me, they should really let all of their tenants live there for free, why not?
I went inside and fell onto my couch. I stared at the ceiling. Money. I needed money. But where to get money? I thought about the homeless beggars I had passed on the road nearly everyday. Holding up handmade signs that read “Need a septim! Whatever can be spared!” How pathetic. That they would need to express their helplessness so publicly. I would never be in their position, I was simply better than that.
I fell asleep right there on the couch, forgetting to get up to eat supper, and finding myself quite hungry the next morning. Alas, I realized that there was scarce any food in the pantry, save for a single loaf of bread, which I had no desire to eat. I was still wearing my shoes, as I had forgotten to take them off the previous night, so I simply headed back out for yet another likely unsuccessful day of searching for a job.
As I walked down the street, with no destination in particular, I noticed a caravan making its way down the road, in my direction. As it passed, I noticed that it was a circus caravan. The side read: LILLETH’S DWELABOW CIRCUS. Lilleth’s Dwelabow? What a curious name I thought to myself. What’s a ‘Dwelabow’? And who’s Lilleth? I decided to follow it, after all, I had little better to do.
The caravan was not moving very fast, which suggested that it was merely going through town as a means of advertising. Still, I was curious about the caravan’s destination. I walked for a long while, with the caravan some distance in front of me. Eventually it turned down a dirt road that I couldn’t remember ever being there before. Down that road I followed it for a few minutes before it stopped. I hid behind a tree some ways back in order to observe what was happening. Many people filed out of the caravan, much more than I would have thought possible to fit. There had to have been nearly two hundred people that came out of that caravan, some were freakishly tall, others were very short, I saw a few that couldn’t have possibly been taller than two feet tall, while others seemed to be pushing seven or eight feet. Some were very skinny, almost sickly to the bone, some even thinner, and others were very large, and many inbetween. All of them were wearing circus makeup and attire. I watched the strange people as they. grabbed supplies from the caravan that could not possibly have fit with all of them, and they began to build. I saw that they were pitching tents, putting up carnival games, and setting up signs and banners. I noticed many of said signs and banners seemed to be in a different language, and not one that I had ever seen before.
Were these people some kind of pop up circus group? If that was so, then where did they come from? I had certainly never heard of them before, not that I paid much attention to local circuses anyway, but such a strange group I was sure I should have heard at least something of.
I watched with a curious awe as they built a whole circus in a matter of minutes. I gaped at the scene in front of me. They had set a large overhead sign on the path to pass under, said path was lined with games and booths for all kinds of things: cornhole, a dunk tank, bowling, and many other carnival games, many I recognized, but many I did not. They had a face painting booth, a photo booth, a dancing game, what looked to be karaoke with a large gramophone and a whole shelf full of music vinyls. There were small performance stages, like a tight rope, a juggler, a tall thin man with a bright green mask in a bright orange and purple onesie rode a vibrant yellow unicycle. Everything was just as colorful as that. Bright neon reds, yellows, oranges, greens, purples, and every color in between was everywhere. I then noticed the colorful neon lights that were strung over everything, as mesmerizing as it was now, I could only imagine what it would look like come night time, when the world would be dark and the carnival would glow in a thousand different colors.
Everything seemed to be positioned to call attention to the focal point of it all, the main attraction, what the show was clearly all about; a large tent, nearly three stories high and so wide it would have taken up at least half a city block. The fabric had large stripes of blood red and vibrant royal purple, and from where I was standing, I could see an intricate monochromatic pattern within each of the stripes. There were even more neon lights surrounding this tent than any other tent around.
I was so busy gawking, I did not notice a small girl had approached me until she tapped my shoulder. I turned, and was startled by the girl’s snow white hair, so bright it seemed to glow against her equally pale skin. She wore a mask that was so dark it seemed to be a black hole that killed all light. The only obstruction was two eye holes, just large enough for me to see her eyes, which were a very bright purple. Her eyes appeared to be very large behind the mask, if I were to judge by the way they filled the small holes completely. She wore pure white pants that came above her belly button, with a pure white shirt that appeared to be cropped, so that a small bit of her stomach was visible. The girl also wore an equally pure white cape, at least it was white on the outside, the inside of the cape was the same dark void as her mask. She seemed to be wearing boots, but they were just as black so that I could not see any details. The girl cocked her head curiously.
“Oh, hello.” I said, unsure of what I should say. Would she be mad that I had been watching them secretly? The girl took a performative bow and reached behind her. As if pulled from the cape’s void itself, she produced a small box that was tied up with a ribbon. When she pulled one end of it, the box undid itself and became a sort of serving dish. Upon it were pieces of cut meat, of which I counted eighteen. I recalled from the story of Axlar-Björn that I had read just the day before that a stranger in a dream had served to him pieces of cut meat on a plate, of which he ate eighteen; a strange type of foreshadowing to the eighteen people that he would later go on to kill, give or take.
The girl seemed aware of my recognition, and although I could not see her face, the air around her seemed to change in such a way that I felt she was pleased with me. She turned her head slightly, as if gesturing to the circus, then offered the meat to me. Somehow, although no words were spoken, I understood what was happening. I took a single piece of meat and ate it.
The meat was raw, and I could taste blood from it as I chewed. It was a strange flavor, but one that I did not mind. After I had swallowed, I ate another one; I again tasted blood, and this time, I almost enjoyed the taste. It went on like that, as I cleared the dish of meat.
Once I had finished, I asked: “What was that I just ate?” The girl took another performative bow, and this time, touched the box to heart. A sweet wave of delicious nausea filled me as I understood yet again her silent air. “Thank you, M’lady.” I said, as I returned the bow. I know not why, as such formalities were usually foreign to me; I never understood them, and yet for some reason, I felt the compelling need to address this girl as if she were royalty.
She looked up at the sign that stood overhead, and I followed her gaze. I was surprised to find that I could now read the strange language it was written in, that had before looked gibberish to me. Now I saw that it read in French: Cloches de la mort du saule, which despite the fact that I could not speak French, I was able to translate further to: Willow Death Bells.
I turned my gaze back to the girl. “Willow Deathbells?” I asked, “What does that mean?” In response, the girl yet again used her head to gesture towards the caravan, which was now parked off towards the side, out of the way from the carnival. I read the name once more.
“‘Lilleth’s Dwelabow… Willow Deathbells… Ah! I see, it’s an anagram! The letters have been rearranged! By the stars, that must mean that the true name of this place is Willow Deathbells Circus, isn’t it? But what exactly does that mean?”
No verbal answer was given, but the girl queued for me to follow her. She led me down the main path in the middle, which led directly to the large purple and red tent that stood in the center of the carnival. As we walked, I took in the scene around me, the bright colors, the neon lights, and all the strange people who now looked at me curiously. Those without masks gave me mysterious grins that seemed to be full of amusement and anticipation; those with masks merely faced my direction, but they still gave an aura of curious waiting. I followed the girl inside the tent.
Once inside, all noise ceased to be, and I was standing in a deafening silence. The girl had vanished, and I was standing in an aisle between rows of hundreds of chairs, filled with an audience just as strange as the performers outside. I had not seen anyone else enter the tent, so I was sure I had no idea where this audience had come from or how they had gotten there. Lights were strung high above, so that this strange audience was bathed in a dark purple and red light. The large circular stage in the middle, which was so dark, I couldn’t even be sure that it was a stage, and not merely a black hole, had the brightest lights around it, although still purple and red in color, they did nothing to light up the surface of the stage, but merely the air around it.
That was when I noticed a single chair, that seemed to be the only one that was empty in the tent. I approached it and looked for a moment at the person it was next to. They seemed oddly devoid of color, as if someone had turned their saturation down; looking around, I saw that the rest of the audience was the same; not quite grey, but very little color remained; the most color on them came from the lights far above that shown faintly on them. They all smiled, big, unnatural smiles as if they were seeing the greatest thing that they could imagine. All of their eyes looked straight ahead, unblinking and unmoving, wide as they could be, not exactly devoid of life, but by no means full of it. All fixed on the stage. I sat down, and the show began.
In an instant, the girl appeared on stage, standing perfectly still, her black boots seemed to disappear in the void of the stage, along with her cape and mask so all I could see were the rest of her pure white clothes, skin, hair, and of course, those glowing purple eyes. She faced my exact direction and I understood yet again. I was her audience. This was for me.
I watched as she leaped up, high into the air and flipped; once, twice, three times, five times, seven times. She landed gracefully and soundlessly on her hands and did a hand spring, no, four hand springs. She continued, doing cartwheels, and springs, and flips with such impressive grace and ease I found myself utterly mesmerised, unable to look away. Again she jumped, and this time landed on a tightrope high in the air that I was sure had not been there before, and that I could not see either end of. She landed on the toes of one foot and raised the other. A cartwheel, then a handstand; she leaped again —
I do not know how long the show lasted. I was so mesmerised that time seemed to stop completely and I found no other thoughts in my mind than watching this strange girl perform in a way that no such human could. Alas, when the show was finished, she landed perfect center just where she had begun, and took a bow. It was as she came up that I became aware of the fact that many hours had gone by. How had that happened?
Without applause, the audience stood up and left, still no sound was ever made, and as the rest of these strange people made their way out, I found myself making my way forward, towards the girl who stood ever motionless on the stage. As I approached, I found myself smiling again, as if overcome with a great joy that I could not place. I felt much like those audience members, larger smiles than they should have been able to manage, and wide eyes, glued on the fantastical girl in front of me.
She watched me as I approached, and I felt sure that she was judging me somehow, deciding if I was worthy. Worthy of what? Whatever it was, I wanted to show her that I was.
She didn’t speak, but her voice — or a voice at least, that spoke for her, was in my mind. I did not hear it exactly, but I knew what she was telling me with more certainty than I had ever known anything before. The strange thing was, it spoke in French, yet I again understood its meaning perfectly.
Well? Now you have seen. Now you know, deep down, you do. I cannot let you leave here as though this has never happened. You have been witness to something great; something your human mind was not supposed to. So now I ask: Will you join the audience? Will you be another wide smile that sits motionless to watch us perform, with no greater joy than myself? Or will you become one of us? You are not normal. That, I can see clearer than crystal. That may have been a problem wherever you came from, but here, it can be embraced. You need not respond to the question, for I already know your answer. I knew it when I first saw you hiding by the tree. I saw the curiosity in your eyes. You wanted to know, and now, you do.
Take this, Monsieur la Viande, and gather us a new audience, one that will be special when you make your performance. Go deep, after all, we have surplus of seats. Find them, all of them. Bring them here, and when your performance is over, Monsieur la Viande will be the new name added to our ever growing troupe. I bid you adieu.
She bowed again, and when she removed her hand from her cape this time, she presented an axe. I smiled wider than I ever had, for in the dream, Axlar-Björn had been told of an axe on Mt. Axlarhyrna by the very same stranger who had served him the meat. Against logic, the axe had been just there when he set off to retrieve it, and became Axlar-Björn’s chosen instrument of killing.
I took the axe as though it were the most valuable thing on this planet. I was never used to treating objects with such care, but this was not an object. This was an artifact. I thought of the name that the girl had called me. Monsieur la Viande. What a splendid and fitting title, though not one that I should like to translate into English, for it loses its ring and elegance.
As I observed the axe in my hands I looked down at my old grey clothes. I had never had the desire to dress formal, I never saw the point, but it occurred to me that my clothes were not well fit for a circus. They were much too drab — much too grey, like the grey audience. That was not right. I was not one of those grey audience members. I was Monsieur la Viande, and I deserved to look like it.
As though reading my mind, the girl looked forward, almost to say:
Step through the curtain, and once you pass through, it will be final.
I did just that. I turned around and walked back down the aisle. It occurred to me that in the silence, I could hear my heartbeat. It was the only sound. A soft, gentle pulse that seemed to fill the entire space; all the way around the walls and as high as the peak of the tent. thmp, thmp, thmp.
The sound had not just appeared. It had been there for a while. When had I become able to hear my heartbeat? I knew it had not been there when I first entered the great tent. It did not matter, as I exited through the very same curtain I had entered through.
At once, sound returned, and I was hit with the deafening noise of life. The wind, blowing the leaves in the trees. I could hear every footstep, every breath. I looked down and saw that my clothes had somehow been changed. I was now wearing brown dress pants that had a reddish hue to them, each leg had a different monochromatic pattern, not unlike the stripes on the tent that I had just left. Below that were tall black boots, with a curled toe and fancy heel. I also knew that I was now wearing a blood red suit top, with a tinted dress shirt under. Over that I wore a long jacket, that felt a bit like a cape. Atop my head I feel a top hat, which taking off, I saw was a dark red as well. Each thing had its own intricate pattern sewn into it, and I felt as though I belonged just where I was in the carnival.
But I had a mission. I knew what I needed to do to finalize everything — to finally be free from my past and escape the world of. reality which I had come from.
I put the axe behind me, which I felt be concealed within my long coat. I then made my way back on the path which I had followed the caravan down, and back into the city which I had left just that day. I thought of where to go first, and came to the very same building that I had left in such a state the day before. I walked in and promptly found the man and the woman who had rejected to hire me. A look of confusion flashed on the woman’s face as she saw me and tapped her partner on his shoulder for his attention. I strode up to them with a wide smile, which had been on my face so long, I did not think it possible to stop.
I reached them and bowed. “Bonjour, monsieur et madame.” I had never been able to speak French, yet the accent came more naturally than anything before. The woman gave an uneasy and strangely awkward smile.
“Ah, Mr… Merit, was it?” She asked, glancing at her partner.
“It was.” I confirmed. “But I have a new name now, and a new job. Call me la Viande.”
“La Viande…” She repeated, failing to mimic the accent correctly, as she did not even try. “Well, ‘la Viande’, I’m glad to hear that you were able to be hired elsewhere in such short time…” I smiled at her unease. Her unsureness.
“As a thank you for everything, I would like to personally invite you to a very special event at my new work. One that I would love for you to see, after all, if it wasn’t for your rejection, I would not have found this new place that I feel so much joy at.”
“Oh — uh,” the woman did not seem to know what to do with this invitation. “I — well I’m honored that you have thought to invite us personally. That’s very generous, and, uh, I’m glad I could help you find this new opportunity… I guess.”
I smiled wider still. “So what will it be?”
“I — ” I had the unpleasant feeling that she was about to reject me yet again, and I instinctively placed my hand upon her shoulder, though I know not why. A strange expression came across her face. “I — I would love to.” She said, although she seemed rather pained to admit it. Good, I thought. All the better.
“And what about you, my good sir?” I asked the man, placing my other hand upon his shoulder in the same way. The man cleared his throat painfully.
“Yes, I — I too would be delighted to attend.”
“Wonderful.” I said, then promptly turned and went out the door. I did not tell them where to go, yet I knew I would see them there.
Two down, I thought, God knows how many more to go. I spent the rest of the day making my jolly way through the city, coming to old friends and coworkers. Everyone that I once knew was to be invited, this was, after all, a very special event, and no one shall miss it.
Finally, I came to an old cottage away from the city. It had many flowers in the window boxes, and a dirt path lined with stones leading to a door that was painted yellow. I suppose that. some people would have found this to be a rather cute little settlement. I personally found no joy from it. It was merely the location of the final member of my audience. Nothing more.
I knocked upon the little yellow door. It opened, and the woman standing in front of me had a look of priceless disbelief as she stared at me.
“Hello, mother.”
My mother stared at me. “Oh my. Logan… is-is that you?”
“The very same, mother.” I told her. “Although my name is Monsieur la Viande now, so I suppose I’m not the very same, am I?”
“M-Monsieur? La Viande, my, whatever does that mean? Have you been learning French?” She asked.
“Best not to translate it.” I said. “As for the French, no. This knowledge was gifted to me along with my new identity.”
“New identity? Why, Logan my boy now I’m sure you’ve lost it.” Mother opened her mouth to say something else, but I spoke first.
“Mother. The reason that I have come here to see you today was not to visit. I have a new job, you see, and there is to be a very special event tonight. I would like to personally invite you, yes you, to attend.”
Mother cleared her throat. “Oh, my dear Logan. Why, yes, of course I would love to support my son. But where did you possibly find that would hire you?”
“That’s just it!” I exclaimed. “I was not hired, you see, but chosen. They chose me to be the one and only Monsieur la Viande. And be him I shall! So, what do you say, mother?”
“Well, I already said yes. They chose you to be er-‘Monsieur la Viande’? Does that mean that you’re some type of mascot? Is that why you’re wearing that ridiculous outfit?”
“Mascot?” I laughed so loud, my mother flinched in front of me. “Stars, no! I am not, and could not ever be a mascot. Of course, how could I expect a simple woman like you to understand? Come see me tonight, mother, and you will understand. Everyone will understand.”
I believe I turned and left after that, although I cannot be sure. I have only a vague recollection of making my way back through the city and returning down the dirt pathway that led me to Willow Deathbells Circus.
As I passed under the large sign — written in a strange language which I now knew to be French that was translated into yet another language that I now knew to be called Aol — they were waiting for me. The entire circus; all of them, standing, almost at attention in their own way, watching me, eagerly.
I carried myself with pride as I strode past them. I looked at them only in my peripheral. I was more than them. They did not deserve any more attention than the edge of my vision.
My guests were not here yet. That I knew. No, they needed time to get here, and we needed time to prepare. After all, it was not traditional to see the performer before the performance.
It was to take place at sundown. In the dark. Yes. So that the lights could glow as bright as they possibly could. That was the only way. It was the only thing that would be acceptable.
I entered the great tent. I knew that those outside were moving to be ready now. Good. They better be.
I made my way to the stage. That stage. I would be performing on it soon. And it would be a grand performance. Such a grand performance.
It was not rehearsed. No. I did not need to rehearse. The act was perfect already. I had not done it yet. But I knew it would be perfect. It had to be perfect. Perfect. Perfect was the only way this could go. Perfect. No. It would not be perfect. It could not be perfect. It would be better than perfect. It had to be better than perfect. Divine. Yes. I liked that word. Divine. I liked how it sounded. Divine. Yes. It would be divine. It was going to be divine. It had to be divine.
I do not know what happened in those next hours. It does not matter what happened in those next hours. But finally. They came. My audience. They filled the tent. Not just any tent. The great tent. The Grand Tent. My Grand Tent. And they were my audience. Coming to see my performance. They came to see my performance. They all came. They all came to see my performance. They didn’t have to. They didn’t have to come to see my performance. Of course they didn’t have to come. They had a choice. Of course they had a choice. They all had a choice. They didn’t have to come. Of course they didn’t have to come. And yet they came. They all came. They were so polite. So respectful. They never made a sound. They did not speak. Because they were. So respectful. They all came. Went straight to their seats. Sat down. They all sat. and they watched, they looked onward. Onward. Only onward. And onward only. At me. Just me. Only me. They did not speak. They loved me. Loved me. They did. Who doesn’t. Love me. Because. I am. Monsieur la Viande. Everyone loves me. Everyone loves Monsieur la Viande. I am Monsieur la Viande. I am. Divine. It was divine. It had. To be. Divine. It could only. Be divine. Divine. They were not. Divine.they were not worthy. Not. of me. Worthy. Theywerenot. Actually. Cometothinkofit. Neither. areyou.
Thank you for reading!
I kind of had this idea at the end where you could kind of see Logan falling to insanity, but I’m not sure it turned out as well as it could of. Oh well :/ :)
I was researching symptoms and signs of real life psychopathy and tried to implement some of that into Logan’s character, such as reading true crime to relax, and being apathetic, only smiling as a means of trying to get what he wants.
Thanks again if you read this far, it means a lot :)
