My Private Little Prozac (standard:drama, 1300 words)
Author: K. Derby	Added: Jan 21 2004	Views/Reads: 4005/2325	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A male model takes a break from reality. A letter written to two friends.

My Private Little Prozac 

Kerwin Derby (c) 2004 

January 19 Jan and Winthrope, 

Winthrope, you bastard, it's all your doing.  And Janice, Babycakes,
you're not going to get off easy either. 

If both of you, or even one of you, had demonstrated the decency, the
compassion, that a normal person would show towards even a hunk of 
road-kill... I wouldn't be in this position. 

Not that I'm complaining, mind you, I really think that being hunted
down like some kind of psychopathic animal is a walk in the park.  Sort 
of refreshing, you know, like a workout or a homicidal killing spree. 

Just kidding about the last bit.  There's nothing like a good
old-fashioned killing to get the blood pumping and the spirits soaring. 


You're both probably wondering what happened.  Well don't believe
everything that you see on television.  For one thing, that security 
camera caught my bad side and I'm sure that I wasn't as messy as that. 

But I digress. 

What really happened was that, after you two made a mockery of me in
that bar, I figured I needed a bit of a walk to cool down.  You see, 
those cracks you were making about my abs really hurt.  Okay, Calvin 
was my last piece of work, but they are not getting blurry.  And 
Winthrope, let me tell you, I am not dining out on my reputation.  I'm 
taking a break, a hiatus, from my demanding career.  Okay, it's been a 
year since I last got in front of camera, but screw you anyway.  I 
don't see you busting yourself looking for work. 

And Babycakes, I'm not yesterday's man.  I have a lot of fans and they
really are disappointed that I'm not in this year's 'Abs O'Iron' 
calendar. 

I felt like choking the shit out of both of you right in that bar. 
Watch your faces go red and then purple and then, finally, have your 
blackened tongues lolling disgustingly out of your bloated mouths. 

I would have given you each an extra squeeze just to see if your
eyeballs would pop out of your heads. 

Just to see, you know. 

God, it was so cool.  After I stormed out of the bar I ran into some guy
just a couple of blocks over by Fifth.  You know, by that deli, the one 
with the gherkins I like so much. 

Anyway this guy, he's kind of scrawny and looks like he's on meth or PCP
or something, he tries to hit me up for a buck.  I shine him on and 
next thing I know, he's pulled out a gun and is screaming for me to get 
into the alley. 

Him:  Get in!  Get in or I'll kill you! 

Me:  No way, kill me here! 

I mean, I was so angry at you guys that I didn't really care what I was
doing. 

I was in the alley with the guy and he forces me to kneel, you know,
like he's going to execute me or something.  I was crying, blubbering 
like a baby in fact, when he starts dissing me.  Calling me a crybaby, 
a wimp. 

Well that was the straw.  It sounded so much like you guys in the bar
that it brought me right back to reality. 

I got up and turned around, the guy was freaking out, telling me get on
my knees and everything, and I saw this with crystal clarity: he wasn't 


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