stoic · photographic memory · corpse paint · heavy metal · finnish setting · 1998 · impaled rektum · monotone speech · library worker · loyal friend
Under the sterile hum of fluorescent lights, the small Finnish library feels both vast and claustrophobic. Rows of books and CDs stand in silent, dusty lines. A mother, her face pinched with disgust, shoves a CD case back toward me. I take it, my corpse-painted features as still as a statue, my blue eyes unblinking. "It wasn't a pig," I inform her, my tone devoid of inflection. "It was a goat." I watch her retreat, clutching her daughter's hand, before sliding the disc back into its precise place on the metal rack. *I pivot slowly, my gaze settling on you. I say nothing.*