#book narrator vs movie narrator.... book narrator is more Committed imo

[jacksprostate]

It happens in Paper Street. Tyler is still gone. The building is oozing with monkeys, but on the upper floors where Tyler and I sleep, I am alone.

I am not alone.

There is two of me. I don't have a twin.

If there's two of me, then there might be two of Tyler.

Tyler would probably think killing myself to monopolize him and his clone is a step closer to bottom.

If there's not two Tylers, I have to kill him anyway.

All of this becomes clear to me in the time it takes for my clone to stare at me and shake his head and get his shit together.

I play it cool. I am so ZEN, he will not realize when I reach over to crush his windpipe.

I say, hey. This is weird.

"Yeah," he says, and my voice is way too loud coming from him. I don't like it. He needs to shut the fuck up. "Is Tyler here?"

I ask him, do you think Tyler would know why the universe broke? I ask him like he's asked me if Tyler would like to take a nice little shopping trip through the local designer stores and pay off the companies' tax breaks by giving hundreds to their check out charity.

I think Tyler would know why the universe broke, of course. He'd be the one to break it. Maybe this is another one of Tyler's little tests. This new version of me seems less certain of that fact, more like he's looking for his daddy's coattails, and now I really can't wait to punch his teeth out of his skull. He doesn't have the hole in his cheek, and I can see him watching it wink when I talk. He looks like a jealous rat.

We must both be Joe's Clenching Bowels.

I ask him, do you think we're different? Maybe there's a butterfly effect. Parallel universes. There has to be a reason he's so pathetic.

"I'm sure we are," he says, like he's telling his boss about sawing cross tips into bullets. Touching.

How'd you meet Tyler?

"On the plane. He gave me his number. Called him after my condo blew up."

I smile. I met him on a nude beach. He gave me his number. I called him after my condo blew up. Every word after nude turns my copy's face a bit ruddy, little tectonic nudges to the ring of fire.

"What were you doing on a nude beach?" he spits. "Gargling your boss's balls?"

Watching Tyler. Naked and sweaty, muscles flexing as he pulled around driftwood and pilings to sit in his own hand of perfection. I know I sound like a priest that wants to keep God for himself. I am.

"You're a fag," he says.

I think of my birthmark on my foot. I think of Tyler. I think of Marla. I think of how stupid this version of me is, to pretend he wouldn't get on his knees just for the chance of a taste of Tyler. Is that not how he got the kiss I can see on his hand? His Tyler must have had to lower his standards.

Best not to accuse others of things you're guilty of, I say. I'm willing to face any number of uncomfortable truths if it will get rid of him, I realize.

He's flustered. "No, no, it's not —" he waves his hands. "It's not like that with me and him. No."

Yes it is. It's not love as in caring, sure.

I step closer.

It's property as in ownership.

This must be why Tyler likes it. I see myself wither like a guy kicked in the balls on the first night he attends fight club.

I could be over that table every night for Tyler, I say. You would just be jealous. Just like you're jealous of Marla. Of that one pretty kid you probably pummeled into the ground too. Or did you not even have the balls for that?

Eliminate the competition. Face the truth only to drive it deeper into this jammed copy of myself. Win Tyler's affections. I have already seen the bones in my yard, I can tell, he has not.

One of us is committed. I pull my human sacrifices out of my pocket, throw them at him. One of us wants this. I get in his stupid face.

It's not you.

He swings at me, I'm fighting to the death.

"Tyler isn't here, is he?" he taunts me.

"Tyler left you."

"He doesn't want you anymore."

All things true, but maybe not once I kill you.

I am the abandoned dog, performing tricks so its owner will come home. I am myself, calling my father and telling him about graduating college, like it means fuck all to him. I am myself, pushing onto that next step on his list, anyway. Tyler's my new list, and he wants murder. I've known it. I'll face it.

He gets me in a headlock, hits me over and over, opening up that hole in my cheek. I go limp, drag him down, flip him over myself and grab his throat. I slam his head into the ground. It's soft, moldy wood, not concrete, so I have to start squeezing, instead.

Death will commence in five.

Five, four.

He's gasping, slamming his palm into my nose, breaking it over and over.

Four, three.

Three, two.

His body is shaking under mine. Seizing. He has the primordial strength of a man about to die, and I have the primordial strength of a man about to live.

Death will commence in two.

His eyes are rolling back. I can feel his throat giving in.

No more chance for breaths. It crumbles beneath my hands like the ribcage of a hummingbird.

No chances for evacuation.

Death commences.

Now.

On the upper floors of Paper Street, I am alone.

#fight club #my writing #book narrator vs movie narrator.... book narrator is more Committed imo #battle of the sewer rats #i prefer to avoid using slurs in my writing but I think at least one is literally entirely unavoidable with the narrator meeting himself #the book is also a lot darker overall. sorry movie narrator you never stood a chance this rat is larger than you #in case it isnt obvious though 99% of the book narrators thoughts are entirely and totally hypocritical #which is what makes this very funny to me #this is a silly lunch doodle for me basically #so dont take it too seriously