Abandon

The fork cut through the quiche unleashing a bubble of mayonnaise and sending four dry pastry crumble across the plate. A long flute glass of champion sat close to the paper plate. It was then that the clown was shot. I had heard the first shot rather than saw it, looking up to see blood bulging from the forehead of the clown. I was close enough to see chunks of make up break away from his brow to make tidy white ice burgs in the blood. I remember the way his cloths seemed to collapse before his body, falling forward and clumping around his chest and waist. When he had feel, I had seen his face, including the moment when he died, for maybe 4 seconds. That was what made this memory so valuable to a certain audience.

I never found out why the attack had happened. I had only be at the party as part of the complex internal politics of the consortium. So middle manager had demanded extra tickets to the party to establish their important and that of their department. The middle manager then had to find people to give the ticket to, so there I want, to the party.

It had been its own special hell. Not the sort of hell that could be exchanged for credits though. It had been dull, white ( everything was covered in white sheets, giving the occasion