Adventures in storyland

My husband and I enjoyed a relaxing evening at a coffee shop in Aristotelous Square last night. We like that particular location because it is a prime people watching spot, where you can hear a thousand different languages pass you by. It is rather fun to pick out individuals now and then and invent stories about what their lives might be like – call it a creative exercise – and we try to avoid snark at all costs, although sometimes we slip up (hey, I’m sure people have all kinds of things to say about us, enjoy yourselves).

Our story for the night involved an elderly couple. They were walking towards the sea, each of them holding two large, black garbage bags. The bags were obviously heavily laden, they both had a bit of a struggle with their burdens, but they carried them evenly, one in each hand. None of the bags was full, in fact I would say they were all half-full, the contents of each bag seemed to be equal in size, but not necessarily shape.

Obviously, the first thing you would think was that they were carrying trash and not so interesting. But you have never met the likes of me and my husband. First, I had to comment that perhaps they were carrying cut-up body parts to throw into the sea. Then, we decided that they lure strangers inside their apartment, a friendly old couple offering a cup of tea, coffee, some refreshment – and then surprise their guest with a quick gunshot to the head or even a sneak garroting from behind. We surmised that perhaps they have been doing this every day for thirty years (save Sundays and religious holidays, of course), choosing victims who appear to be among the indigent, wandering type, who may not be readily missed if they disappear. They cut the bodies up into parts and solemnly carry their prey to the sea, as we witnessed. Then they go home, fix dinner, and watch Sex & the City. How brilliant – as very few people would ever expect an elderly couple of being serial killers. It wasn’t until we added up the numbers of dead that the whole idea got sobering. And then were distracted by a gaggle of Russian tourists, some of whom seemed to catch us on video discussing our geriatric murderers.

I’m not sure what it says about us that we invent such stories about people, but making happy stories about bunnies and flowers is just somehow not as fascinating. Unless, of course, the bunny has razor sharp teeth and an appetite for flesh, and the plant has hallucinogenic properties that can control people.