The Don And His...Friend

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

“Why do you continue to look at the fork, when only you can see into your mind?”

To which Lucius replied, “I look into this fork and I see my mind…cold, yet sharp.”


Cafeterias are normally uneventful places. In the 1,456 days which I had attended school, (that’s 4 years if you’re trying to work it out) I had proceeded through the sticky labyrinth of popularity and obscurity, never witnessing a thing out of place. A characteristic unusual of me.

That is, until I spotted the boy sitting at the table.

He was sitting with a dark-skinned boy much larger than himself, and had been staring at the metal fork held in perfect balance upon his palm for some time before I chanced upon him. The larger lad sat across from him. He was ripping the meat and bone from the mutilated chicken leg held awkwardly in his hands, absently spewing food at his host from an infinitely wide mouth, the juices trickling down the corners of its’ gaping black hole.

The first boy with the fork upon his palm continued to stare; unspoken, unmoving, uncaring.

His name was Lucius. Of course, the name is unimportant at this point. Almost as unimportant, as the 16-stone, dark-skinned lads’ boulder muscles. As you already would have gathered by now, I am extremely good with numbers, and I am even better at observing things.

So anyway; this boy. I began to watch him from where I had decided to take my seat, and I noticed that he was blonde. Once again, this is irrelevant to the story, it was just a point I had noted, another thing I observed about him, was the way his pupils refused to dilate as they warbled in the daytime light as they watched that fork. I have wondered many times what he was thinking as he stared into his reflection upon that tiny metallic mirror. A very complex mind must have complicated thoughts; however, a very complex man has basic thoughts too, which is why I guess I have never been able to understand what he was thinking.

After being unable to bare it any longer, I proceeded across the fragile, mental walkway that was the distance between our tables. I sat deliberately next to him, set my tray down and offered him my hand, after which I was promptly picked up by the dark-skinned boy and threatened.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He grunted, I found it extremely difficult to understand what he said, as he had his mouth full at the time. Therefore, I ignored his question, and as I dangled a few feet above the air, I turned my head to the still inanimate Lucius.

“Why do you continue to look at the fork, when only you can see into your mind?”

To which Lucius replied, “I look into this fork and I see my mind…cold, yet sharp.”

Not long after I was sat down and we struck up a conversation. He asked me to work for him, and I agreed. He was a very young entrepreneur.

We both left school a week later, and began a company. Lucius planned our schemes, with my expertise of calculations, and observatory nature, we managed to evade the law for a very long time. Together, we were unstoppable. We set our premises up in a penthouse flat in London when we each reached the age of 20, having gathered enough money and enough of an empire to do so.

We had taken young men off of the streets, the sort of dirty laundry who mugged elderly women and young boys, and turned them into hardened men. We did not turn them into criminals, we turned them into our security.

I was 21 when Lucius brought home his first love. She was extremely pretty, and blonde. Stumbling into the penthouse giggling like a hyena and shouting inflammable words at me, he and his lover had wobbled into the bedroom. I ignored the pair, she was drunk and he was aroused. I had been focusing on the next days’ scheme. I had been working on it for some time, our final business deal, so that we could retire from this life early.

I planned for us to rob the treasury.

Lucius and Number 1 had made love that night in the room next to mine. For some reason unconnected to lack of sleep I had banged on the plaster wall to tell them to stop being noise. I was not angry, I just did not want to hear them make love like that. They refused to oblige.

Number 1 had an unfortunate accident during breakfast the next morning. Something deliciously cruel must have been within her omelet to make her choke and beg for somebody to help her like that. Lucius did not look into the matter.

Number 2 had been a rather small brunette. She had been rather nice, and when I had met her for the first time she was sober. It had been a shame that she had drawn more attention to their love than the blonde did. A week after I had met her she had been in a fatal car-crash. Shame.

Number 3 was me. Lucius had been postponing for months whilst attempting to find a wife to hold his heir. He had given up hope after he realised that somebody in the company did not want him to find somebody.

That was, until me…

Lucius had joined one night as I had been beginning the finishing stage of our plans. It had been just us both in the penthouse that night, mercury wine had stroked our lips and tingled our senses just as Lucius used to simply with his words.

That night we made love, and he made me fall in love with him.

We were in love for precisely 144 hours. At least, that was how long Lucius loved me. I never stopped you see. One night I had come back to the penthouse from scoping the front entrance of the Treasury one day for any changes. I had called his name 13 times, and I had cried for 304 seconds before going to our safe to check for the plans to the treasury.

They were gone.

The metal of the safe reminded me of the first time I had seen him, and it made me think of what he had been thinking. Had he truly loved me? Had he just used me? Had he seen this plot from the start…I did not know. All I knew, was that I still loved him, and tears flooded my skin for a further 3,809,401 seconds. They did not taste salty, they tasted like shit.

2 weeks passed by, I re-planned my heist with those thugs loyal to me and not our criminal empire. I did so in vain, watching the papers for those 14 days, in order to make sure that you had not attacked the treasury, I calculated your thoughts and your every move in order to choose the day which you would choose to strike, and so I decided to strike on that day too.

I was right.

So here we now are my love, in the cold vault of the countries Treasury, and a gun pointed in your face, and I feel those tears I had cried for 3,809,401 seconds coming back into my eyes, and I feel my heart tripling its’ rate.

I am unsure if I can kill you here my love.

So I will tell you our story once again.

Until I can find the strength.



Submitted: January 22, 2012

© Copyright 2022 Alex Lamont. All rights reserved.

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