24Mongolian Cashmere is expensive to clean.
Especially when it's a bright grey color and covered with blood.
How do I know that?
Because I, Richard Fisk, had to clean blood off of my suit.
But I also never owned a Mongolian Cashmere suit, and I never had to clean blood off of it.
Because I'm not Richard Fisk.
But I also am.
Allow me to explain.
It all began when I got run over by a truck.
Generic, isn't it?
Well, My name was Richard Fisk, your regular 19 year old guy, I had a regular job, and regular friends.
I didn't have a girlfriend or, god forbid, a wife and kids, I was an only child.
I was, for all intents and purposes, A normal guy.
Now, Richard Fisk is the name my parents gave me, but it's also coincidentally the name of a comic-book character.
Are you still following me? Good.
So, this comic-book character, Richard Fisk, was a criminal in a super-hero comic.
Some bad guy for the hero to beat up.
What made this Richard Fisk more noteworthy than other c-list bad guys, was that he was the son of a major villain.
Wilson Fisk, The Kingpin.
Now, This comic-book Richard, Let's call him Rose for now so we won't get confused all the time, wasn't a good villain, He wasn't even a memorable villain.
He's the kind of villain that appears once in a while as a side-villain in a bigger over-arching story.
He isn't big MAIN villain material, and he wasn't fine with that.
Not when The Kingpin, his father might I remind you, runs the biggest criminal empire in the largest city in America.
The Kinpin of crime, The King of New York. That was what they called him, And Rose, he was jealous, he wanted to be at the top, he wanted to be The Kingpin.
Sadly for him, he wasn't good at being a criminal.
At least not most of the time. Because of the nature of comic-books, especially long running ones such as the one The Rose was part of, he has had several different iterations.
He was a criminal, a vigilante, a civilian, he even had residence in hell for a while.
He died but came back because another villain cloned him to make him join his clone army, then his new clone body was destroyed by another villain, where he then spent a few years living in hell in a nifty penthouse, before his father resurrected him using two magical stone tablets.
An exciting life, really.
Except that I'm not the rose, I'm Richard Fisk, the young adult, not Richard Fisk the Rose.
Except now that I'm dead, I guess the cosmic entities in charge of karma or creation or what have you decided that it would be a funny idea to place the memories of a comic book character into my head.
And now I'm thinking about expensive suits and gardening tools.
What has my life become?