I Thought I Was Someone Else #1 - Movie Date

Published on 18 April 2024 at 12:54

I am writing this note solely out of respect for my mother, and also out of spite for my wife. My wife, that miserable wretched bitch, she’s the real reason I’m doing this. Why I did any of this. It’s her fault that we’re both dead.


Anyway, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. This note, this statement, it is going to be complete, no matter what. No matter how it all makes me look, no matter how incriminating some aspects of it are and what it’ll do to besmirch my name and life once all the details come to light. I need to explain it all, that’s the only way you might understand.


The following story primarily concerns only two people, myself and my wife Clarissa.


Even in the early stages of our relationship, I knew right away that Clarissa could be strong-willed, stubborn, bullheaded, domineering and, quite frankly, a bitch. Those aspects of her personality came out straight away. The constant nagging, the nitpicking of every little thing I did. The way that she would put me down in front of others to make herself look good or funny or whatever the hell it is she was going for. I knew who and what she was. And I did my best to put up with it and take it all in stride, which I was able to do for a while. A long while actually, just shy of seven years. I took it all on the chin until she became too much, until I couldn’t deny that seven year itch anymore. It was time to scratch it.


My plan started to come together one evening when we went to the theatre to see a movie called Kingpin Chronicles starring an actor named Allen T. Watts, who I had never heard of before.


The first time he appeared on screen, I sat up a little straighter in my chair. His mess of auburn hair was slicked back with a dapple of pomade, bringing it under loose control. His eyes were wide, wild, unhinged, filled with rage and revenge. When he spoke, his voice was gruff, tough, and a little nasally. It was the perfect old school mobster voice.


“So, you’re a dirty, stinkin’ rat, huh? Well, I’ll shows ya what we do to dirty rats around here!” By the time the barrage of submachine gun bullets was spent, I was hooked and Allen T. Watts had a new number one fan.


Allen’s performance sent me to a different world, a whole new reality. One where people got what was coming to them and men were tough, in charge, strong-willed. As I watched the movie, I was also living it, my enraptured mind putting myself into all the situations that played out on the silver screen.


By the time the credits rolled, I knew who I wanted to be. Somebody different. Somebody better. Somebody like Allen T. Watts. In fact, the more I thought about it, I did kinda look like him already. The auburn hair, if I parted mine differently, styled it better, it would look like his. Even my face, if I were to lose the glasses and the heavy bags beneath my eyes, well, maybe I could even be mistaken for him! More than anything though, more than anything about his looks, I was captivated by his persona. That’s what I wanted to assume, to incorporate into my life. I didn’t want to keep living my life as a worm. I wanted to be a man. Not just any man, no, I had to be the best man. The toughest. I wanted to be Allen T. Watts.


When I walked out of that movie theatre, I knew that my life was changed. I just didn’t know how yet. I didn’t know yet that, actually, this was the beginning of the end of my life.




We exited the theatre together and, as usual, Clarissa began to immediately rip the movie to shreds.


“Kingpin, huh? That shrimpy little weasel? I don’t think so! That’s about as believable as YOU running the streets!”


She laughed. I inwardly glowered.


“And what’s his name? Barry P. Fats or something?”


“Allen T. Watts,” I corrected her immediately. In return, she gave me an angry side glance.


“Yeah, that sounds right. Anyway, not like we need to remember his name anyway, he’s never going to be anything big. He’s nothing special, he’s more like Caspar Milquetoast than a mobster.” She looked me critically up and down and then added with a sneer, “Same as you.”


My innermost rage went from a simmer to a boil. I opened my mouth…but nothing came out. Nothing but a tightlipped “Yes, dear.”


I was disappointed in myself when I saw the look of victory on Clarissa’s face. I hated her. I hated myself. It was time for a change on both of those fronts.



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