As Spencer locked his eyes right onto the windows of Willy’s expiring soul, he tasted the sweetness of the air for the very first time, and how much of it filled his lungs and intoxicated him with joy and energy like he’d never felt before, because he hadn’t. He'd been cured of a disease that required him to live life inside a big plastic bubble suit, and after winning the fight, crushing the condition to death, he was out of the damned thing and was feeling room and space and freedom around him for the very first time.
He watched as the puddle of thick syrup-like crimson broadened into a puddle underneath him while he kept staring into his eyes—widening more and more like a blooming flower in the beginning of spring; which was the time when everyone could go outside and feel the fresh outdoor life for the first time since being locked up inside as it was too cold out…warmth, fresh air, freedom…liveliness.
Spring is here and I am out to enjoy it!
Spencer’s right arm began to feel rubbery and tired after what must have been over a hundred stabs everywhere around Willy’s bare torso and midsection not to mention the blood loss. The corpse had literally been covered neck-deep in blood; he couldn’t find a speck of untouched flesh anywhere on him from his chin down to his waist. He was torn up all over. Spencer thought he looked like some kind of appetizing dessert—a type of Swiss cheese Danish that held raspberry jelly in the middle. He licked his lips at the thought.
He looked down at his knife, the same one his good (good and late) friend had bought him for that night, covered practically to the handle with his blood, dripping from the carved tip down onto the carpet.
Right now, Spencer knew that there was supposed to be remorse at this point. He had ended his best friend’s life, now he was supposed to feel pity, regret, guilt, hating the fact that he was going to live the rest of his life with this.
But he didn’t. He belittled him and treated him like a low-level lackey on and off through their relationship, but that had nothing to do with it. He was one of his own. It didn't dawn on him until now, but he never asked of what his life was before his first. Maybe it wasn't as bad as seeing as he came from a a different world. He thought of it now standing over his mangled corpse.
Come to think of it, Willy didn’t die. He was right here, right inside Spencer’s special room—a place his therapist recommended to him after witnessing the bike accident; he told her that he had “nightmares” about the carnage that took up just about the entire intersection, when to him they were actually sweet dreams; she made him think of a comfort zone, a place to re-energize confidence, a place where no one or nothing would be able to harm him with anything, a place where no bullshit could get to, no matter how much damage it normally dealt—that was where Willy was right now. His special room consisted of their parents’ summer home in Nebraska, the traditional modern log-made atmosphere with the wall-mounted deer heads and the fireplace and the bear rug spread across the floor before it; the eighty-inch plasma screen high-definition TV playing so his father could watch the stock market, political debates and the news; but that wasn’t what was playing in Willy’s special player's suite room, his very own eighty-inch plasma-screen HDTV was playing a non-stop marathon of one of his all-time favorite shows, Mama’s Family.
He’d always loved that show. Spencer did, not Willy. Willy always told him it was gay. Well, Willy belonged to Spencer and he was in his kingdom now, so he was going to have to learn to like it.
He saw Willy there right now. He remembered Willy toying with the idea that he wanted a three-way with two chicks, one white and one black. Spencer smiled. He always wanted what he called a vanilla-and-chocolate-sundae threesome. He was never able to pull it off before, but here, in Spencer's kingdom, Willy had them waiting in his player's suite on top of his bed, substituting for the traditional complementary mint.