Thanks to the reader who only does math homework for the generous tip

Thanks to the reader who only does math homework for the generous tip

Dear Doctor, by the time you read this letter, I'll be dead—history really does have a way of repeating itself.

Listening to the beautiful music played by his own neck bones, the Fatty thought again of the unfinished suicide note.

As the music played, he was imagining the plot of his suicide note when he suddenly felt two icy hands pressing down on his head.

The hands reached from behind him, so the Fatty couldn't see who they belonged to.

But out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a little red abstract flower painted on the fingernail of the left index finger.

It was Little Red. The Fatty recognized her immediately from that.

The flower had a long and winding story behind it.

It had started when Little Red saw some nail art in a beauty magazine one day.

She'd been instantly captivated by the magazine's colorful, pretty nails. She threw a tantrum in the apartment, rolling around and crying and carrying on, insisting that she wanted nails that beautiful too.

But nobody in the apartment had that skill.

The Fatty was a one-man talent pool, but he had no experience painting on fingernails.

In the end, 007, who knew a little about painting, had bought a bottle of nail polish at the supermarket and used her atrocious artistic skills to paint an abstract five-petaled flower on Little Red's nail.

It was the very flower he could see now.

The hand with the flower slowly applied pressure. To the Fatty's delight, his head stopped turning backward. Instead, it was forced to slowly turn back to face the right way, then click into place.

Thank goodness he didn't have to write a suicide note after all,