Death of a Dresden Doll by Ric
Inspired by Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five
“Any man has to, needs to, wants to/Once in a lifetime, do a girl in”
TS Eliot - Sweeney Agonistes
Listen:
Amanda Palmer has become unstuck in time… And space too.
Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Amanda is now living, and also dead. She’s out there touring, but she was also assassinated. And will be assassinated, in many different ways. And will also die of natural causes circa 2057. And also, she has never even been born.
And she is experiencing all that at once, right now. (Except, of course, for that non-existence state that comes with the “not having been born” part).
I’ll explain: in one line of possible events, Amanda was born in 1976*, lived on, and died, let’s say, in 2057. In another line of events, she was assassinated while recording her first solo album. I’m not kidding you, she really was assassinated. I should know, because I was the one who killed her. So it goes.
When I decided to kill Amanda, I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. Maybe nobody does. It came to me like a settled deal - an imperative that should be complied - like I was meant to do it. It wasn’t like any “devil made me do it”, or “I did what the voices were telling me” kind of thing - it just was the thing to be done. I would kill Amanda and there was no escaping from it, for neither of us.
I knew where she lived, and prepared a stakeout. I was just standing at the other side of street, pretending to read the paper, and probably looking suspicious as hell, waiting for her to get out of the house. When she did, I crossed over to her side, and hadn’t taken three steps of following her when she turns around and stares at me.
– You came here to kill me, right?
I was stunned.
– I tell you what: since you’re gonna kill me anyway, let me at least take a last cup of coffee and then you kill me afterwards, ok?
I was even more stunned. I thought of drawing the gun right there, in case she was trying to fool me, but she guessed that move too and continued:
– Ah, come on man, you can make it look like an accident later; I’ll even help you with it, promise. Not to mention that, if you kill me now, you’ll never find out how I knew about you, AND you’ll miss the best cappuccino ever.
I had no choice.
– Settled then, – she said – hot drinks are on the soon deceased.
We got to what she said was her favorite café. It was a nice place, chess patterned floor, intellectual types around, antique cash register on the corner, you know the style. She said hello to the baristas, they answered back, she presented me as an old friend, they said hello to me, and I answered back; we ordered, we sat at table in the corner, waited awhile, and the beverages arrived.
She started grumbling from above her steaming cup.
– I can’t fucking believe it, the universe must be joking with me, every-fucking-body is trying to kill me you know? Must be the price to pay, not that I’m complaining of course.
I wasn’t surprised. But I wanted to know how she knew about me, not the others.
– Ok look, here’s what – she said – You know the multi-universes theory?
I don’t know who was the Einstein who first formulated the idea – maybe it was Einstein himself –, but the theory is something like this: at any given moment several things are possible; the next moment, only one of these things happen; but, according to this theory, the universe sort of multiplies itself to permit the other possible things to happen in several new universes.
– And the four dimensionalistic view? – she asked again.
This one claimed that the passage of time doesn’t really exists, that the past and the future are also happening “right now”, they are just different “presents” which we have seen or will see someday.
– So, they’re all for real – she paused for a long sip, and then continued – The thing is that, believe it or not, for some bizarre reason, I’ve been traveling through all of the possible pasts, and the possible futures, of all possible fucking universes; and you know what, I’m feeling really tired about it. So that is how I knew all about your evil scheme to kill me… (she made that “oooo, scary!” mocking face) …as if that could ever happen for real.
I can’t say I wasn’t surprised, but somehow that seemed to fit right in with what Amanda seemed to be. I figure that went a long way in explaining how she wrote such kick-ass songs full of truth and wisdom, but I kept it to myself in case she wouldn’t agree with me. I didn’t felt like beginning a discussion on her songwriting merits.
– And how about you, why did you decide to kill me?
Like I said before, it was settled before I even knew what I was doing. I felt it was something I simply had to do.
– But, like, you could just choose NOT to do it. It’s just one possible outcome.
She told me everybody can choose any possibility, if they know what’s going on. That there wasn’t any imperative for me or anybody, that all the time people did things without knowing what they we’re doing, but that it was their choice, even if they were forcibly prevented to see beyond it. But that if one knows what he is choosing, he can give it up if it’s a bad idea, and do something else.
– And you know what else: one of the many things I don’t understand about this is that every time, on every possible universe, there is always some fucker trying to kill me. I’ve been killed so many times already, in so many different ways, you just wouldn’t believe; the sick things that people do, you know? It’s really bizarre.
She paid and tipped and said goodbye and we got out.
We were walking down the street, nobody in sight. It was getting late.
– So it’s really up to you, see? You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.
But I couldn’t stop it anymore – well I could, she was right of course, but even because she was right. Now it was my choice, I was going to kill her anyway.
We got near to a park. She looked up to the trees and walked towards to the biggest one, and then she stopped and turned around like she did the first time; and shrugged, knowing her eventual fate. I shot.
She fell down, but at the precise moment, she stretched her arms and held her torso up a little. She looked at the bleeding hole in her belly – and then she tapped her belly childishly like that drum bit that goes after a joke.
– Well I guess that’s it then. The last time I fell I hit my head, it really fucking hurt, so I thought ‘not this time’, hence holding myself up like this.
And then she laid herself a little lower.
– You know, we could’ve really hit off if you didn’t do this, I’m telling you because I know, you know? We’d be friends, you’ll present me to your sister Bella, such a beautiful girl, how is she by the way?
She died a little more, lying on the ground completely now.
– It would have been real nice, but hey, one’s got to do what one’s…. But I’ll be seeing you again…
She coughed blood for a bit.
– …better luck next time.
——————————————————————————————————————
A Short Story by Jason S.
Inspired by this photo taken by Kyle Cassidy
Let me tell it to you straight: Amanda Palmer was killed by Watchmen. Well, if you want to be all technical about it, the book did and didn’t kill her. The squid did. It was more of an indirect murder. Actually, I don’t know if you would call it a murder. Perhaps a little back-story would be a good idea.
Amanda came into the world without any complications. No C-section needed, no premature birth, no deficiencies, no problems in the womb, and, eerily enough, right on time. It’s as if Amanda knew what her due date was.
Her first few years breezed by. She learned to crawl, walk, and use the facilities. She experienced the pains of teething. She spoke her first words: “Ba ba.” Everything passed uneventfully – that is, until kindergarten.
It was some point after the children learned the alphabet. The children were given free time to draw things like their houses and families and such things. Now, mind you, as the children were all around the age of 5, the best drawing expected from them was stick figures in front of “houses” that resembled either something constructed by Frank Gehry or something thought up by Salvador Dali. Or explosions and fire. But you wouldn’t expect that from 5 year olds. The teacher treaded slowly around the tables, looking over each and every shoulder, saying the customary “Oh, that’s such a nice house,” – that is, until she got to Amanda.
Amanda’s house was – well, in a word – stunning. It looked like a sketch of a classical painting. The house was a majestic and domineering Victorian, with a lush green lawn. On the lawn were perfect drawn-to-scale replicas of her parents. However, there was a shadowy, human-like figure in the attic window of the house.
“Amanda, who’s that?”
“Him? In the window? Oh, that’s RJ! He’s lived in the house for years. I can see him, but my parents can’t.”
Amanda’s teacher didn’t tell her parents about RJ. He seemed like your average imaginary friend. But her parents and all of their friends and all of their friends’ friends and so on raved about her drawing, even more when they came over for drinks and had a little too much and got a bit giddy.
You’re probably wondering, “Okay, this isn’t as mind-blowing or confusing as the 5th season of Lost, but what the hell is going on here?” Perhaps I should explain. Amanda had a gift, if you couldn’t deduce that from her flawless drawing featuring RJ the ghost, along with her punctual birth. She had psychic tendencies, which amplified her art skills, allowed her to communicate with RJ, and gave her knowledge of her birth while in the womb.
You’re probably now wondering “How do these tendencies figure into the story?” Well, whenever people write books or comics or anything that’s read by an audience, they unknowingly leave small psychic imprints that the readers slightly sense or pick up on, affecting their emotions while reading. When Alan Moore was writing Watchmen, the squid received a heavy psychic imprint, heavier than anything else in the novel. This imprint causes heavy feelings of fear and disgust in average readers when they reach the point at which the squid appears. In those with psychic tendencies, it results in severe Grand Mal seizures. And those tend to result in death. And that’s what happened to poor Amanda.
She was in her early 30s when she decided to pick up Watchmen after seeing the film, which is a poor choice if you’re a fan of graphic novels and adaptations. The proper thing to do would’ve been to read the graphic novel, see the film, and then nitpick to one’s hearts’ content. Let’s just say that Amanda chose poorly. She was lying on her bed, working her way towards the end, when she came upon the squid. The strong imprint, amplified by her psychic tendencies, immediately caused a neural overload, which lead to a gushing nose and a cerebral hemorrhage, killing her almost instantly. Amanda toppled off of the bed, landing on the floor, out of sight. The novel landed within arm’s reach and without a trace of Amanda’s blood on it. Amanda’s mother found her body when she came to let her know that dinner was ready. They were having meatloaf, Amanda’s favorite.
And that’s how Amanda Palmer died.
How do I know all of this, you ask? Let’s just say that when people read my works, I learn all about them, through a psychic connection of sorts. And I must say that Amanda was the most bloody interesting person to have read my works – well, except for that Neil fellow. And he turned out okay. What a pity. They would’ve made a fantastic couple.
