It’s a cool Summer night. Crickets are chirping, the Moon is full, and I’m squatting down at the end of a large field, staring at a collection of glowing flowers all around me. Just ahead of me is a pier and a lighthouse. I know that they’re important, but why, I don’t know. The lit-up flower petals then fly straight up and come back down, forming a circle around me. While looking on in awe of this gorgeous display, I see a group of three or four people off in the distance. They all seem to be waiting for me, almost in an obligated “give him some time” kind of way. I get up and see what this group wants with me, not knowing if it’s good or bad.
I’ve just been caught masturbating by my father. He merely shakes his head and says, “you really need to learn how to put that shit away.”
I’ve killed an elderly man for unknown reasons, and I’m serving out the prison sentence. For whatever reason, one of the conditions to my sentence is to visit (or maybe it was live in, can’t remember) the home of the victims’ family. This visit is completely unsupervised and I’m not shackled or bound in any way (this seems like a bad idea). I’m greeted by the man’s oldest son. He stares at me with wide, terrified eyes as he asks me if I’m armed. He then laughs, pats me on the shoulder, and tells me that he’s just fucking with me, man. I sit down and talk with the rest of the man’s family. The old man wasn’t very well liked, it seems, as his relatives each give their fantasies of murder, each ending with thanking me for going through with it. We then begin laughing and telling morbid jokes about the murder. I feel uncomfortable joking about such a heinous act at first, but then that feeling eventually subsides. The son comes back and hands me a mug of beer. I think I’m going to like it here.