showerhead

So yeah. Rose Cookies.

This isn’t your usual power fantasy or deep character study. It’s just… something that came out of my brain—and maybe yours too.

Keanu, the guy you’re reading about, isn’t really a person. He doesn’t have a personality, no tragic backstory, no moral compass. He’s just there. Walking, talking, smiling. And then suddenly—violence. Out of nowhere.

Why? Because sometimes, life just pushes people. You keep swallowing the little stuff—awkward silences, fake laughs, getting ignored, getting talked over, being the nice one. Over and over. And then one day, something in you snaps… or at least, wants to.

Not gonna lie, a lot of these scenes are born from real stories. Not the stabbings, obviously, but the feelings. Stuff I’ve gone through. Stuff people have told me. That quiet, helpless frustration when you just sit there thinking, “Why do I keep letting this happen?” And maybe, for a second, your brain throws out the worst possible solution just to see how it feels.

Keanu is that. He’s not a person. He’s an impulse. He’s what happens when all that built-up patience finally tips.

Some chapters will be hilarious. Some will be disturbing. Some will make zero sense. That’s intentional. Life doesn’t stick to genre rules, so neither does this.

Thanks for reading. Or hate-reading. Or doomscrolling (I sincerely doubt that) your way into this mess. I’m writing it like a fever dream and trying to surprise myself, so if it gets weird, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

– Sincerely,
Showerhead

Rose Cookies

"Can you stop breathing like that?" Omar grumbled, scooping Biryani with his spork, like the uncultured demon he was.

Keanu blinked at him. "Like what?"

"Like you're inhaling disappointment."

They were sitting on a bench outside the engineering building, plastic food containers balanced on their laps. Keanu had brought pasta. It was half-cooked. He said he liked the crunch. Omar said he was going to call the UN.

A few pigeons strutted nearby, watching like debt collectors.

"Do you ever think," Keanu started, mouth full of crunchy penne, "about what your bones taste like?"

"You said that last week when we were in the elevator with that Erasmus girl. You said her clavicle looked seasoned."

"I'm not flirting, I'm just wondering."

Keanu nodded solemnly. "I went once. The therapist cried."

Omar looked around. "Okay. I can't do this today."

They finished eating in silence. The pigeons were getting bolder. One hopped onto the bench.

Keanu looked it dead in the eye. "Try me."

In the library, Keanu sat quietly, scrolling through Reddit with the screen brightness at max. The girl beside him gave him side-eye.

"I know what you're doing," she muttered.

"You're the one who replaced the café's oat milk with regular milk."

Keanu leaned in, whispering, "And I'd do it again."

After dark, Keanu walked alone through the alley behind the sports center. He passed the vending machine. It beeped, like a sad R2-D2. He reached into his pocket.

A tall guy approached from the other side. Gym bag. Over-ear headphones. Standard night jogger.

Keanu stood still, watching him pass.

Right in the side. Quick. Quiet. Clean.

The man dropped. No scream. Just breath escaping like a deflated balloon.

Keanu crouched down beside him, rummaged through the bag. Took out a protein bar.

"This," he said, unwrapping it, "is how I hit my macros."

As Keanu disappeared into the night, hoodie up, footsteps soft, a poster fluttered off a wall behind him.

"WANTED: Missing Erasmus Student. Last seen near vending machine. Answers to 'Juliane'."

He's literally just like that