I’ve started hearing
voices: at home; at work. I thought the woman in the bathroom stall next to me
was speaking to me so I spoke back. She wasn’t speaking to me.
For a moment I thought
I’d found a kindred spirit – the way she was talking to me. The way the voices
were talking to me. Teasing me.
Sticking a pickaxe
through that man’s eyeballs.
Stuffing that woman’s
silk scarf down her own throat.
Peeling that man’s
fingernails off with rusty pliers.
I can’t breathe. Why
would they tell me these things? Why would they tease me?
I can taste them. The
voices…such detail…I can hardly bear it.
On top of that I
haven't orgasmed in a month. Every time I'm about to climax I think about
that...woman. The one that has gotten me into this mess.
What? She fucks the copyboy and now I can’t get
off? In what messed up universe does that makes sense?
Maybe the voices can
come up with a delicious way to kill her all over again.
The case has been
settled. My company is no longer under investigation and neither am I.
I wish someone would
tell Daniel Westburn. He was outside my house again yesterday. He still thinks
I’m under investigation. That man is making the voices come louder and me not at all.
I can’t stand it for
much longer.
As always, dear
readers,
Stay Safe
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