One tends to see a writer so clearly, so unmistakably so that we are all
left to wonder, can that possibly be real?
A writer writes thoughts, emotions, beautifully sketched pictures that tend to deliciously travel to one's head if they are of an imagining kind. Pictures, images and what-not, they are writers and have the courage and the right to do so. You should never question their meaning, but read it, and enjoy. Isn't that a simple pleasure of life?
You dared me not to write this, but look what I'm doing. You told me to leave it in the dust, to let another deal with its problems and circumstances. I'm not listening. You wanted me to leave you alone for the rest of your life, to stay away from you no matter the costs, and to speak nothing of this to anyone.
Now its time to pay the piper.
Your taxes are overdue.
You used to scare me with what you thought was the inevitable. You used to tell me that it was a curse to be able to write. To be able to hold that pen and oh-so-fluently describe a world that you will never know. You thought you knew it didn't you? You wanted to know it, regardless of what pain I am put through.
Mostly, I think fear is clearly visible in your actions. You were scared stiff. You did not know me. You did not see what I was doing right under your very nose. How I was a witness.
I am a witness to a crime that you will never be able to live down.
I saw the inevitable right with my own eyes even though you poured into me later the fact that it could not be.
There is little truth in what you say. There are no morals in what you do. Most of all, you tried to excrete them on me.
I got you there didn't I?
I would listen patiently every night to your upset gasps, your muffled words of remorse and sickness. Your fear of being caught. You told me to keep you safe. You told me to hide the truth from your eyes. I did it.
I wrote you pages and pages of the fantasy you wished you lived in. It had a family in it, beautifully descriptive of a sister perhaps, and a loving and caring mother and father. You said you loved the characters as if they were real, so I continued writing. I gave you many friends, different in all possible ways, yet still wonderfully magical. You swallowed these and yet more! A job, a husband….so much more…
But dear old friend, I'm quite sorry to tell you that this story will not have the ending you begged for. I had to incorporate the truth. I will no longer hide it. Let us see how your characters will react to the new and improved you, shall we? Murder and all. Will that lovely family still exist? Oh, you shall have to see. What of your husband? I wouldn't think he would stay around to watch you destroyed. Your fantasy may come crashing down on you. You want to know the ending don't you?
Well then, read on. I will explicitly give you what you always wanted. A fantasy world of your very own since you could never quite capture mine. I will create for you a life that will both frighten you and intrigue you.
You always wanted me to before. Now your wish is coming true, though maybe not completely to your liking. You want that oh-so-perfect life I created for you before. You want the husband and the job. Sorry, dear. It's very impossible now that the truth has struck me so harshly.
I wonder where you are as I write this to you. I wonder your lifestyle now. Still keeping those damned secrets I bet! Well, only too soon will reality hit you in the face.
Hell is waiting for you. Are you ready to go?
A writer writes thoughts, emotions, beautifully sketched pictures that tend to deliciously travel to one's head if they are of an imagining kind. Pictures, images and what-not, they are writers and have the courage and the right to do so. You should never question their meaning, but read it, and enjoy. Isn't that a simple pleasure of life?
You dared me not to write this, but look what I'm doing. You told me to leave it in the dust, to let another deal with its problems and circumstances. I'm not listening. You wanted me to leave you alone for the rest of your life, to stay away from you no matter the costs, and to speak nothing of this to anyone.
Now its time to pay the piper.
Your taxes are overdue.
You used to scare me with what you thought was the inevitable. You used to tell me that it was a curse to be able to write. To be able to hold that pen and oh-so-fluently describe a world that you will never know. You thought you knew it didn't you? You wanted to know it, regardless of what pain I am put through.
Mostly, I think fear is clearly visible in your actions. You were scared stiff. You did not know me. You did not see what I was doing right under your very nose. How I was a witness.
I am a witness to a crime that you will never be able to live down.
I saw the inevitable right with my own eyes even though you poured into me later the fact that it could not be.
There is little truth in what you say. There are no morals in what you do. Most of all, you tried to excrete them on me.
I got you there didn't I?
I would listen patiently every night to your upset gasps, your muffled words of remorse and sickness. Your fear of being caught. You told me to keep you safe. You told me to hide the truth from your eyes. I did it.
I wrote you pages and pages of the fantasy you wished you lived in. It had a family in it, beautifully descriptive of a sister perhaps, and a loving and caring mother and father. You said you loved the characters as if they were real, so I continued writing. I gave you many friends, different in all possible ways, yet still wonderfully magical. You swallowed these and yet more! A job, a husband….so much more…
But dear old friend, I'm quite sorry to tell you that this story will not have the ending you begged for. I had to incorporate the truth. I will no longer hide it. Let us see how your characters will react to the new and improved you, shall we? Murder and all. Will that lovely family still exist? Oh, you shall have to see. What of your husband? I wouldn't think he would stay around to watch you destroyed. Your fantasy may come crashing down on you. You want to know the ending don't you?
Well then, read on. I will explicitly give you what you always wanted. A fantasy world of your very own since you could never quite capture mine. I will create for you a life that will both frighten you and intrigue you.
You always wanted me to before. Now your wish is coming true, though maybe not completely to your liking. You want that oh-so-perfect life I created for you before. You want the husband and the job. Sorry, dear. It's very impossible now that the truth has struck me so harshly.
I wonder where you are as I write this to you. I wonder your lifestyle now. Still keeping those damned secrets I bet! Well, only too soon will reality hit you in the face.
Hell is waiting for you. Are you ready to go?