Post-Script (Part 4)

Earlier that night, I had purchased an ice cream at the confectionary stand. It was my favourite flavour, mint-choc-chip. I unwrapped the sugary snack and sucked on it. I remembered the day my parents died; they had been on a plane travelling from Perth to Heathrow. It crashed and their bodies were never found. Since then, my needs had been simple. I wanted to create a loving family. My wife (Black, Virgo) would be called Natalie and my two daughters would be Rachael (Taurus) and Amanda (Capricorn). We were going to live in a mansion with spiked towers that reached towards the heavens. A dead hero once told me that Gothic architecture was the most spiritual, I agreed.

Another dead hero once informed me that Hell can conquer Heaven; all you need to do is turn the world upside down.

I stood up from my seat and walked down the aisle of the cinema. I did a victory dance as people crawled on the floor. They were gasping for air. Their lungs were burning as they sucked in a variety of noxious fumes. I shimmied. I jived. I felt just like Roberto Benigni when he won an Oscar for ‘La vita è bella’ in 1997. It was an uplifting moment. Of course, every positive action must be dealt with by an equally negative re-action in order for the universe to remain balanced. That is why, until the end of my days, I could never take responsibility for the events that transpired post-script.

Post-Script (Part 3)

The film lasted for two hours, two good hours, which is more than I can say for the inane shit that dribbles out of Hollywood. The director waved to me as his eyes burst in their sockets and flowed down the front of his boiled face. I thought he had done an adequate job so I waved back.