BBU application - response by Kix

Unpromted contribution

The therapist sat down next to the man and grabbed his notepad. He nodded and the talking started.

“My career started by accident. It was my first whale client, as they call it. Big director, hot shot, you see? He told me he wanted something new, that I should surprise him.

Later the same day, a friend from uni told me this guy was not… you see, the kind of person you want next to your kids. I wanted to quit the job, but the contract would bend me over, so I had to do something. Man, I read that contract at least five times and I couldn’t just not make him anything. But I could make him something bad. Like, real bad.

I cashed out all the money he gave me as an advance. All in 100 buck bills. Then I sew and sew and in the end I had something that looked like a hat. The dollar fedora, the newspapers called.

The guy loved it. I hated the whole thing, but it’s how I got to the outrage business. It’s a big thing in Hollywood, you see?

Mind, I’m not the only one. You remember when Gaga wore a meat dress? Like, raw meat? Franc sent me a package the same week, a steak inside. Smelling bad, you see? And he wrote on the meat ‘your move, Dillan’. Bastard!

The problem with being in the business of outrage and even competing with others is that you need to do more and more and more and never stop. Last Oscar I made Reeves that suit all made of LSD blots. It was a scandal! People were licking him, he was not happy. But hey, he hired me, what did he expect?

But one day it will be too much, you see? How much is too much? I’m always thinking the police, the law are gonna come after me one of these days, but they gave jack shit about the LSD. If anything they were looking weird at Keanu.”

He went on and on. The therapist didn’t utter a single word, not hello, not goodbye. That was the method, the only one that worked for Dillan.

Nobody knew this, but the therapist was the last bastion holding Dillan from seriously considering using plutonium for a dress.

Prompted contribution



— Hello?

— Hi. - said a familiar voice in Swedish.

— Juli, that you?

— Yeah, listen.

There was a pause. I looked at the window again and the black bird had moved closer, right next to the glass where it could still see me. The little thing seemed to be holding for dear life against the wind.

Juli went on:

— There’s no easy way to say it. Nana died this morning. She was hit by a bus, it was an ugly business. Dad is taking care of the funeral and all.

— Oh, so that’s who.

— Hm?

— Juli, you wanna say something to Nana?

— What? Did you hear what I just said?

— Yeah, Nana dead. But hey, if you could tell her something right now, what would you?

I could hear Juli was losing patience with me, but I could also hear he didn’t have the energy to fight. I got this, Nana had been a key figure raising us (mom was always away, so she took the responsibility for herself (she was more than mom to us, really (I guess I was so calm just because I had been far away for a long time))).

— I… I’d tell her that she meant more than mom to me.

(Told you.)

— Ok.

I muffled the phone with my hand and addressed the bird, this time in Swedish.

— Juli said you meant more to him than mom. I’m with him.

The little bird tilted its head twice, then flew away. If only I had asked the first question in Swedish!

Juli had hung up the phone.