In the circles Thome’s parents moved in, there was no morality. Morality was something with which to occupy the underclass in a contest to curry favor with a higher being.

In the circles where Thome grew up, there was neither political correctness nor organic food, people smoked, drank, whored around; they were the last free people, who had nothing to do with those beyond the bougainvillea bushes. The people here didn’t know Netflix, Facebook, they’d never been to McDonald’s or on a package holiday. They didn’t know there were self-service supermarkets and Google search engines, they didn’t know Starbucks or Tinder, except that

Those businesses belonged to them.

On Thome’s street there were a few men with pronounced pedophilic tendencies. The enjoyment of being tied up and debased was at home in nearly every building on the street—Thome sensed his thoughts wandering, which was normal in a brilliant, quick mind such as the one he carried.

“Then we should set off, sir. Are you ready?”

The quirk of addressing himself formally was something Thome had affected since his time at boarding school. It gave one a sense of security to know an adult was with you.

So

It was in earlier times that Thome stood with his father and mother behind a bush in the Scottish Highlands waiting for game. It was Thome’s first hunt, he was terribly frightened. He had his boning knife attached to his belt; around him the Scottish Highlands in fog, inside him terror. “We are here to put the animals out of their misery.” His father had said. Which could make sense if you considered life misery, as his parents seemed to. Thome froze. He was waiting for

THE RED DEER

OPENNESS: N/A

HEALTH RISKS: depression, hunters

He was a rather introverted game animal. Amazing that anyone could have had enough of life, thought the game animal, just the way one cannot imagine getting old when one is young. That happened to others. Others, with their embarrassing self-inflicted aging.

It would never happen to him. At least hunters were good for that. And

There it is, the shot to the chest, but. No pain. Thinks the game animal. Did they miss, the complete and utter idiots? Is even that too much for them to manage? Unfortunately no, because I can’t manage to keep my eyes open. I’ll just close them for a second. What’s the meaning of this? The most beautiful moments of life aren’t playing back. Inside. No tunnel, no light. Only me. Alone. With the sky, the light, that’s going out. And the knowledge that everything, everything, for nothing. Was.

And then the sun goes down—for the last time.

Goodbye, you unspeakable assholes.

Barrel of laughs with you. You complete and utter idiots, thought

THOME