The Booming Universe

There's a man here who makes me feel uncomfortable. He talks about his feelings and seems to be be very interested in how I'll react when he says things that are ridiculous.

Here is a beautiful Victorian home with ornately carved trimmings and antique furniture. Outside, snow had been falling for hours, and the distant blast of a incoming freight train can be heard, heedless of the winter storm that has enveloped this small town in the North Country of New York.

It's just about New Years and my best friend from college has invited me up for his annual party.

"How often do you cry," this strange man asks me in the first moments after I've left my buddy's  car, facing a stiff Adirondack wind.

My friend, who is helping me unload my stuff, seems unfazed. I find it a little curious that he doesn't introduce this odd person to me, but I realize that some of his high school pals will be here too and we'll soon all get to know each other. I smile at the weirdo in a friendly sort of way that says "I'm not sure what mental illness you suffer from but in the event you decide to blow up the Universe please know that I'm ON YOUR SIDE."

All through dinner that night, as we all relived stories about my friend from high school and college,  the man stared at me and with a singular focus that made me uncomfortable.

After seven shots of Jaimeson, I finally shouted across the table.

"Hey man, what are you LOOKING at!"

My voice came out groggy and oddly high pitched, and everybody laughed heartily and kept drinking.  The man smiled slightly. As I staggarred to the restroom, the man somehow followed me and whispered in my ear:

"Are you sad often? Boom, sadness just hit you?"

He smiled while he uttered this cryptic message and I shoved him away. I'm not into gay shit and whatever game the queer was trying to run was starting to get on my nerves.

I slept much of New Years Eve off both to recover from the debauchery from the night before and in preparation of the volumes I would soon imbibe.

The snow continued heavily as afternoon turned into evening.  I was just about to get out of my bed when the man walked in.

"Boom," he said spread his hands wide, "Sad yet?"

 Before I could curse him out, he departed. I could hear the party was already off to a flying start outside as my buddies drank booze in the driving snow. They'd been at it all day.

I languished down the stairs,  poured myself a whiskey,  grabbed my jacket, and stepped into the storm.
 
"Hey Jack, watch this," called my best friend.

 I turned to him just as he struck a match that lit a large firecracker in his hand.

The explosion was cacophonous. It was superceeded only by a blood curdling cry.

 Panic broke out amongst my friends and red drops seemed rain down my jacket. My best friend cradled what was left of his hand.

Suddenly, the strange man appeared next to me. Smiling, he reached into his pocket and handed me my buddy's car keys. Then, he took my whiskey and chugged it.