Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author: Chuck Palahniuk
- Genre: Dystopian Fiction, Self-Help & Psychology Humor, Fiction Satire
- Publish Date: 1 May 2018
- Size: 1 MB
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Avail for Download
- Price: Free
Tyler gets me a job as a waiter, after that Tyler’s pushing a gun in my
mouth and saying, the first step to eternal life is you have to die. For a long
time though, Tyler and I were best friends. People are always asking, did I
know about Tyler Durden.
The barrel of the gun pressed against the back of my throat, Tyler says “We
really won’t die.”
With my tongue I can feel the silencer holes we drilled into the barrel of the
gun. Most of the noise a gunshot makes is expanding gases, and there’s the
tiny sonic boom a bullet makes because it travels so fast. To make a silencer,
you just drill holes in the barrel of the gun, a lot of holes. This lets the gas
escape and slows the bullet to below the speed of sound.
You drill the holes wrong and the gun will blow off your hand.
“This isn’t really death,” Tyler says. “We’ll be legend. We won’t grow
old.”
I tongue the barrel into my cheek and say, Tyler, you’re thinking of
vampires.
The building we’re standing on won’t be here in ten minutes. You take a 98
percent concentration of fuming nitric acid and add the acid to three times
that amount of sulfuric acid. Do this in an ice bath. Then add glycerin dropby-drop with an eye dropper. You have nitroglycerin.
I know this because Tyler knows this.
Mix the nitro with sawdust, and you have a nice plastic explosive. A lot of
folks mix their nitro with cotton and add Epsom salts as a sulfate. This works
too. Some folks, they use paraffin mixed with nitro. Paraffin has never, ever
worked for me.
So Tyler and I are on top of the Parker-Morris Building with the gun stuck
in my mouth, and we hear glass breaking. Look over the edge. It’s a cloudy
day, even this high up. This is the world’s tallest building, and this high up
the wind is always cold. It’s so quiet this high up, the feeling you get is that
you’re one of those space monkeys. You do the little job you’re trained to do.
Pull a lever.
Push a button.
You don’t understand any of it, and then you just die.
One hundred and ninety-one floors up, you look over the edge of the roof
and the street below is mottled with a shag carpet of people, standing, looking
up. The breaking glass is a window right below us. A window blows out the
side of the building, and then comes a file cabinet big as a black refrigerator,
right below us a six-drawer filing cabinet drops right out of the cliff face of
the building, and drops turning slowly, and drops getting smaller, and drops
disappearing into the packed crowd.
Somewhere in the one hundred and ninety-one floors under us, the space
monkeys in the Mischief Committee of Project Mayhem are running wild,
destroying every scrap of history.
That old saying, how you always kill the one you love, well, look, it works
both ways.
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