It was one of those places where people didn’t have to lock their doors. Children could play outside without fear of drive-bys or kidnappings. The sun always seemed to be shining. Everyone knew everyone and they all got along. The perfect town, right?

My idea of a perfect town contrasted severely with most people’s. I think if children are screaming, it should be because of pain and fear, not fun and happiness. People would have double locks on their doors, but even that wouldn’t be enough to keep the robbers, rapists, and murderers out. The sky would always be a deep dark gray and a light fog would hang permanently in the streets. That is the perfect town.

I didn’t talk to anyone. I stayed down in my basement instead of being with my family. Talking to people here wad dreadful, because they all thought I was weird, and you could see fear in their eyes. They thought I was going to flip out and kill them. So, I just stayed down there and painted.

I have a lot of talent as a painter. I’m not bragging; it’s just what I’ve observed. My pictures are what caused people to start avoiding me. They said they were so vivid that they were disturbing. I find that hard to believe because the pictures were soothing to me.

I decided to go upstairs because I was starting to get hungry. I figured my parents would be asleep by now.

“Hello,” a timid voice called as I walked to the refrigerator.

I turn and saw my mom sitting alone in the living room with a lamp on. “Hi, Mom. What are you doing up so late?” I asked, feeling annoyed.

“I was just working on a jigsaw puzzle…”

“God, Mom!” I yelled, infuriated. “Why do you constantly work on those mindless things? That’s what all the people in this stupid town do! Did you know that every piece you try to place in the wrong spot kill a hundred brain cells?”

“Now honey, I’ve never heard that…”

“It’s true! Just wait till you’re working on that puzzle with your last brain cell. You’ll put it in the wrong place and drop dead, just like that! And you know what? I’ll laugh, and I’ll tell Dad I told you so, but you wouldn’t listen. I’ll tell everyone, and them maybe this town’ll listen to me for a change!” I tried very hard to keep my face distorted into a look of anger, because seeing the fear develop on my mom’s face was quite amusing.

“Oh dear,” she said, wringing her hands together nervously. “On my.”

“Maybe you’d better go to bed, Mom. If you have a heart attack, I don’t want you to have it in front of me.”

My mom didn’t even hear the last comment I made as she slowly walked upstairs. She believed just about anything I said if I yelled because she was submissive then.

I walked over to where she had been sitting to turn the light off, but the puzzle caught my eye. It was a puzzle with lots of people walking pleasantly down a street, with children playing, and with two lovers looking up at the birds in the sky. My mom only had twenty or thirty pieces to go.

The more I stared at the happy scene, the more I despised it. I started taking it apart. I couldn’t understand why puzzles were always so bright and happy. People needed dark and dreary puzzles, scary puzzles, puzzles depicting death and pain.

I watched the town fall apart, piece-by-piece, as it became nothing more than a jumbled mess on the table. With each piece I removed and dropped aside, an idea formed in my head. And finally, as I took apart the last two pieces, I knew exactly what I was going to do, but the idea was crazy.

For months I had worked diligently on my two best and most important works of art. The first was a painting of the town, and it had required outside research. The first day, when I stepped out into the wretched sunlight, breathed the sickeningly perfect air, and looked at all the smiling people, I threw up. It was so disgusting being out there, but I had to do it. And I did do it. I got the town’s main buildings and houses sketched out on a homemade map.

The second work of art was a painting of my dream town, and all it required was a trip into my imagination. I painted every last detail, right down to the dead dog in the middle of the street.

Now I was cutting the pictures into pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle. The idea was insane, but I had to try, no matter how crazy it was.

I walked home with the two puzzles in a bag. I went down into my basement without saying a word. After I had put some items away, I pulled out a carefully sized picture frame, and started putting together the puzzle of the ugly, boring town. I didn’t get it cut into too many pieces, so it didn’t take long. Then I placed it in the frame.

Nothing happened, although I hadn’t really expected anything. I started pulling the puzzle apart, all except for the piece with my house on it. Then I started putting together the puzzle of my perfect town. The place with the dead dog. As I placed the last piece, a low rumble came from outside. It was time to see if it had worked.

I ran upstairs and opened the door, and for a moment I couldn’t move. I hadn’t expected it to work!

The sky was dark and cloudy. A fog hung in the street. The air smelled of filth and garbage, and people were running through the streets, frightened. There was a dead dog in the road.

A lady ran past me. She was clutching a child to her chest, and dirt and grime were smeared on her face. A man with a knife ran after her, pausing to wave at me. He knew I was friend.

I left the door open to let in the air, and sat down on the couch. Outside I heard screams and gunfire, and I envisioned the pain the people were feeling, and I smiled. My parents were trapped in a hostage situation, and would probably die since the cops no longer had any control. I relaxed. This was the life.

02/1998