He said he needed it to look more real. I guess I didn't realise how real he meant. I made so many suggestions. More pumpkins. More skeletons. More actors jumping out to scare the guests. But he didn't seem satisfied with that. I didn't realise, I just didn't realise what he had in mind. He wanted guests to be scared out of their wits, not realising the true horror of what they were actually seeing. He said they did it all the time in the movies. Americans do it all the time, he said. People see something scary and it's only later that they realise what they saw was real. How real? I asked. How real could we possibly make it? I feared he wanted to use the animals on the farm and I was prepared to report him. I went right to the phone, not realising he was near. Now I'm scaring them. The guests. They scream when they see me and then laugh at their "foolishness". It's not real, they'd tell themselves, just make-up. They saw my eyes moving. They saw my hands shaking. They saw the blood trickling down my head from the supposedly fake nails in the cross. I was a crucifixion. A laugh at our Lord, apparently. But I was in agony. Slowly I could feel reality slipping away. I pleaded with my eyes but no one took a second glance at me. They would know later. They would see the reports and they'd say, yeah, I saw her! I thought she looked real but I didn't think it was. I mean, how could it be? Who does that?
He doesn't ever think of me. As if I'm supposed to feel guilty for his indiscretion. He's the married one, not me. Why should I care? I'm hurting no one. No one close to me, anyway. I don't know his family. I know him. And that's all that matters. I just want him. No baggage. But he insists on whining every time I see him. Beating himself up. In between doing things to me that he can't do to his wife, apparently. So why should I have to listen? I won't, I told him. I won't listen. He doesn't get how this hurts me. I love him so much and he barely gives me the time of day except when he wants to forget his guilt for an hour or so. Then I'm just supposed to evaporate and he can go back and play happy families with a woman who makes him miserable. I could be so much better for him. I am so much better for him. Why can't he see that? I'm probably the best thing that's ever happened to him and yet he keeps going home every night. I should end it. Let him miss me. Of course I'd take him back at the drop of a hat, but perhaps making him sweat a while will do him good. Show him what he's missing. He'll realise it's me he wants and not her. I'm the fun one, not her. I'd be a better mother to his kids, she'll see. Why can't I stop being angry about this? He gets under my skin. It's my fault. I'm the one who pursued him. It takes two to tango though, doesn't it? He can't hold me responsible. Did I make him to do it? I'm good but I'm not that good. I'll end it. Plenty of more married fish in the sea, right? I'm the best ever to happen to them.
How does he not see me? I'm driving so fast and at him, surely he knows I'm here. He doesn't recognise me. Of course he doesn't. Why would he? I was just a kid the last time he saw me. He just saw pain, blood, suffering. He saw my defenceless brother and he laughed. He had no qualms about telling me he was going to kill my brother. But he didn't. He hurt him but he didn't kill him. I'll kill him. Not my brother, no way. I'll kill him. I'm driving at him. It'd be so simple, just run him over and drive off. Sure, someone will spot my license plate and report me. There'll be some of the car on him and some of him on my car. But who cares? Maybe then he'll know who I am and he'll remember, that scared seven year old girl he intimidated and allowed to watched the pain he set upon her family. I should slow down. Is it worth it? Maybe for a few minutes but it won't make the pain go away. At least he'll be gone away, gone for good, like he should be. Why should he be able to walk around after what he did? He shouldn't and he won't. Not now. Sure I know where he lives, I'm sure I could find out where he works, though he's probably leaching off the state, who would hire him? No, I'll get him. Sooner or later I'll get him and I'll make him look into my eyes and let him know who I am and why I'm doing this. Or maybe he'll know in the afterlife. He'll be looking out at me from hell or purgatory, somewhere hot. And he'll know. Hell always know.