Deux: Soup for Two

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Oh joy, today is Friday; so that means I will have dinner at that restaurant down the street, the one with the big shiny sign. I can't wait to order the special of every Friday: the soup.

It is my favorite restaurant for many reasons; all the glares that welcome me every time I step through the door. All the time, those crystal glares, I can see through every single one of them, inside, burning hate in their eyes, it feels like home.

I usually sit at the table in the very middle of the room. At the table opposite of mine there is always the man in the gas mask, staring at right at me. I know he wants to start a conversation, I can see it on the heavy breathing and constant stare as he drinks his glass of water and eats the slice of bread he always orders.

Sitting at the table on my right there's the iceman, frozen in his seat, staring blankly at the wall in front of him, but I know he stares at me, I know underneath that layer of ice there is a boy that was never born, but who am I kidding?

On the left there is this yellow dinosaur wearing some wacky hat, always eating the Friday special. I hate him. Every time he slurps the soup, it disgusts me. I don't really care if he looks at me, I never look at him either.

The waitress always takes a while to attend me; but when she does, she stares right down at me, smiling, waiting for my order. She says nothing. She just writes down my usual order; then she nods before heading into the kitchen. I know what she writes on there. I know she can see right through my eyes and know what I really want. I don't even have to tell her my order, she knows. She already knows.

Once she's inside the kitchen I can hear the screaming coming from there. Every Friday, the same screaming, and the same dialogue. But everyone ignores it, and so do I. As the screams get louder, the man in the gas mask gets more nervous and more impatient. Every time, once he snaps and slams his fist on the table the screaming stops. Then, suddenly, the waitress comes out, carrying my order. She looks like she's been beat up, but I know she does not care, neither the rest do.

She places the soup on the table, and with that same smile she walks back into the kitchen, and she is not seen again. I know the iceman wants the same. Every time I order something, I know he wants to order the same thing; but the waitress never comes back after she's given me the soup, so I see him every friday slowly dying of starvation. I can see all of his ribs through the ice, I can see them being held together by the ice covering them.

And just when I'm ready to eat; the lights go out, everything is pitch dark for about 3.4 seconds. When the lights go back on, the iceman has melted down, and on the ground. All the intestines, bones, and so on, are held together by the now melted ice that are scattered on the floor. The same god damn liver ends up by my feet, and I step on it in rage; squeezing it with my Italian shoes, slowly, hearing the meat inside squeak as it rips apart, I can't never get used to that.

The gas mask man is not very amused. He always turns his head away from the bloody mess; the dinosaur will usually just ignore everything and keep on slurping that dammed soup.

Once I'm done with the soup; a man comes out, dressed in a blue suit and a Kitsune mask with his hand out to me, he's got pale but thick skin, and no hair at all, waiting for the pay, I always give him a certain amount of coins of every type to please him, only the ones who usually eat at the restaurant know the right amount to please him, after that the man walks back into the kitchen.

After that I just get up and leave. Same thing every Friday.

Should I talk about the soup now? Nah, I don't have time. I got to get to the restaurant in time, because today is Friday so that means I will have dinner at that restaurant down the street - the one with the big shiny sign. I can't wait to order the special of every Friday: the soup.

It is my favorite restaurant for many reasons. All the glares that welcome me every time I step through the door. All the time, those crystal glares, I can see through every single one of them, inside, burning hate in their eyes, it feels like home.

I usually sit at the table in the very middle of the room, at the table opposite of mine there is always the man in the gas mask, staring at right at me. I know he wants to start a conversation, I can see it on the heavy breathing and constant stare as he drinks his glass of water and eats the slice of bread he always orders.

Sitting at the table on my right there's the iceman, frozen in his seat, staring blankly at the wall in front of him; but I know he stares at me. I know underneath that layer of ice there is a boy that was never born, but who am I kidding?

"Remember Sully when I promised I'd kill you last?...I lied" - Arnold Schwarznegger

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