1979.

Face it, my darling, face it. The crows have already pecked out your eyes, you are blind, you are blind. Your words have little meaning, and when you speak them aloud, they have even less. There is a talent, you know, and it isn't spread to many. Literature is far less infectious than rumours.

I think I have found you but a week too late; and what has already been resolved is like a situation only half understood; I did not know a human being could morph so swiftly into monstrosity.

We are all so quick to jump to conclusions these days. You should not flatter yourself by thinking that I would ever take the time to think you special. I try, I try so hard, to further my morals by extracting your pleasant features and fixing them in a list, but I am afraid, I still come out on top.
I am not a fool, I know, and I am not a bad person. My 1930s-meets-2500s personality creates a contrast that you couldn't match if you tried. I have little sympathy. Hello to your mothers, your sons and your daughters; line them all up, now let's shoot them like stalkers. You have wiped off your make-up, for what is in is despair.

One day I will form a book, and for each and every one of your lies there will be a new page; devoted solely to you. For that is what you want. You have written your story and you have made your bed; some of us choose to iron the sheets and smooth out the creases, but for you, your natural brush of inadequacy applies. Laziness will now leave you to lie here forever, and we will sleep, we will sleep.
I will watch your eyes stay open.



In this story there is a happy ending, and the gilded audience will applaud, they will stand and applaud me. Happiness is a wonderful thing, my dear, and it is a lesson learned by few. I am becoming stronger by the hour, healthier with each word I write. Pray, do not listen to me now, I speak only lies and my forked tongue will only slash your ankles until you are bleeding at my feet. But honesty is not a game we play in these parts. I am far too honest to slave away my days digging the foundations for a house on the rocks. Let us build our house in the sand, and then we shall drown together, just you and me. We will drown together like all lovers do.
My forked tongue has reached the epilogue.

Applaud me now, and bring yourself to your fate.