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

"Yeah." Keanu paused, halfway through screwing the bulb into the lamp. "Well. Technically, my neighbors are pretty involved in my life. They bang the walls whenever I breathe too hard."

Jules, perched on his couch, glanced around the small apartment. "It's not bad. A little... empty."

"Right. 'Minimalist' is code for 'I use my dining table as a laundry basket.'"

"Don't judge me," Keanu said, walking past the stack of hoodies on a chair. "It's a lifestyle choice."

Jules gave him a sly look. "You're really not like how I imagined. I thought you'd be weirder."

Keanu smiled. "I'm full of surprises."

They both laughed. For a moment, it was easy. The type of easy that feels expensive in adulthood—unfiltered jokes, zero awkward silences, a little too much eye contact.

Jules poked a finger into the air. "Okay, okay. Final question: what's your biggest pet peeve?"

Keanu didn't blink. "People who cut lines."

"It says everything about a person," Keanu said, serious now. "They think they're the main character. Like the rules are optional."

Jules leaned back. "Damn. That was deeper than I expected."

They laughed again, but this time it lingered a little longer than necessary. Keanu stood up and stretched.

"I should walk you out," he said, glancing at the clock.

"Already?" Jules tilted her head. "I was hoping to stay longer."

Keanu smiled gently. "I thought you didn't like empty rooms"

They made it halfway down the building stairs when they passed the man. Middle-aged. Hoodie up. On his phone. Didn't say excuse me. Just shoved past Jules without a glance.

He waited until they were outside.

Jules walked ahead, smiling, oblivious. "You're kind of strange, you know that?"

Behind her, Keanu turned. Walked back. Fast.

The hoodie guy was still typing something.

He pulled the knife clean. One movement.

He stabbed the man in the kidney, twisted once, and pulled away like he'd just opened a soda can.

No one screamed. No one saw. The man crumpled like a folding chair. Keanu wiped the blade on his jeans and turned back, calm.

Jules called out, "Everything okay?"

Keanu shrugged. "Just needed some air."

She laughed. "You're such a weirdo."

"Life's too short to not stab someone over queue etiquette." – Confucius, probably

Empty rooms