My Writings: Under The Stained Hoodie – A short story

Wilson relaxed back in the sofa, straightening the crease in his premium leather coat, taking a sip of the drink lying on the table next to him. “I want you to kill me.”
“I’m sorry..?” Matt almost spit through his open jaw.. He had heard Wilson was an overly pampered super-celebrity with a twisted head, but there probably truly wasn’t a limit to how much of one he could be.

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He looked back at Betty’s portrait and smiled.. He had finally fixed their broken wooden door to the right position.
It was just another foggy morning. He slid on his white, overused hoodie, that hid his forehead and half his eyes and got on his way to the mini-market an hour away from his isolated mud and straw hut.
As he came to the news-stand his eyes fell on a face that was quite familiar.. He took the magazine in his hands and kept looking at it for a while, feeling like the figure would come to life at any point and…
You know, he kinda looks like you!” Said Sid, the stand owner. “If maybe you cut off your beard, and, started taking more care of the way you look. And, if maybe you were in your twenties and a billionaire..” Sid laughed as he looked at the shaggy looking guy standing in front of him who could only smile at that…. If only.
The front page of the magazine read in bold,

‘Three Decades Since The Loss Of The Star –

R.I.P. G. K. Wilson, You’re Alive In Our Hearts’

———-

He opened the wooden chest at the corner of his shack and pulled out a pile of what seemed like decades old newspapers… He had buried the chest under all the things he didn’t need on an everyday basis, making it harder for him to gather the strength to go open it and easier to resist the urge the best he could.
He picked up the one at the top. It had lost its white and was more of a pale, yellow and twisted remain anymore. It sparked a young, good-looking chap, flashing a gorgeous smile. Underneath, it was captioned..

‘G. K. Wilson, a file photo.’

It went on to explain how Wilson passed away, through cardiac arrest and how it meant that the world lost one of the most talented people it had ever witnessed.

———-

He walked in through the mediocre-looking, but beautifully decorated house, following a well dressed man in gray to a room that he believed was the guest room.
Mr. Wilson, this is truly such an honor.. You could’ve called me to your office, you didn’t have to travel all the way.
I need a favor, Matt.
Oh sure, anything for you, Sir. Is it about your latest album? We’re actually making it the front-page story of our next edition. It shall be out in four days. I’ll show you the draft and we’ll add any additions you want to it.” He said without a break.
It’s not about that.
Oh…” Matt gasped, he almost thought it was..
Wilson relaxed back in the sofa, straightening the crease in his premium leather coat, taking a sip of the drink lying on the table next to him. “I want you to kill me.
I’m sorry..?” Matt almost spit through his open jaw.. He had heard Wilson was an overly pampered super-celebrity with a twisted head, but there probably truly wasn’t a limit to how much of one he could be.

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———-

The wooden door shook and made a weird noise as someone from the outside knocked at it.. He went on to open it.
Oh, come on in.” He said as an elderly man, roughly the same age as him, mid sixties, suited in a gray tuxedo, walked in.
Here..” He handed over a small bag to him. Filled with his favorite pastries. He was a man who didn’t ever take any favors, but cakes were different. He took the bag with a smile. “Hope I didn’t come in at the wrong time. I just thought it’s the 26th today, and in remembrance of something, I felt like I should come meet you..
Well, I’m free for another hour or so. I have to go off to work then.
Work? You mean chopping woods for a living…?” He almost snorted laughing…
Yes, that’s what I mean. How’s life going for you?
Well, I’ve got an interview in about four hours. It’s about G. K. Wilson’s death..About how I was the last person he was seen giving an interview to.. About his achievements, and, his last album that never got released.. About how true the news of him being an alcoholic, spoilt, hypocrite were.. About how being the richest bachelor in the world had gotten to his head.. You know,” he sipped through the glass of water he was offered, “the authenticity of all those rumors. And of course, about why no one has even been able to figure out where his grave is. He smiled.
“Well, I’m just glad my work’s a lot easier, mate.” He laughed.
Greg..?” Matt sighed as he developed a stern expression on his face this time. “Why? Why did you do that? What for, mate? You had everything..
Well, having everything isn’t too comforting, you know..!” Gregory Knowles Wilson smiled as he cleared the pastry frosting from the long, untamed gray beard framing his wrinkle-filled but content looking jolly face. “This guy, under this white, stained hoodie that you’re talking to, is an old but a strong-hearted widower Greg, earning and living every second of his life, not THE G. K. Wilson that you’ll be giving the interview about. That guy was a weak and insecure goon, I tell you.. this guy is human, to say the least..” This time he laughed harder as he went on to pick up his axe, leaving the shack without looking back..

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