Monday, 6 August 2012

Notes: 06/08/2012

Tonight it happens.

I have seen terrible things in my time in this little game, my friends, and they started fifteen years ago with a book. A book of mysteries and codes, begging to be solved, revealing themselves to be either ingenious or impossible. After everything was taken from me, I wrote a book. And now, with the finish of what will be my final book, it ends. They have won.

The two young women are still here. They have not fled, though I cannot tell why. But I hope that they do soon. His man has revealed himself. A tangle of long red hair, and clothes which, if I am not mistaken, mark him as a teenager. He is surprisingly lucid, even intelligent, especially compared to the wild, gibbering maniacs so often under his employ. His Daddy is on His way, and I am to either join or perish.

He has given me a mask, like his. It is not crude or ugly, but rather the porcelin of a young man's face, unlined by decades of fear. It is a mask I desire very much, but I am afraid to put it on. He says it does not hurt. There is peace, like meditation. No fear. No sorrow.

I cannot imagine life without fear or sorrow. It sounds inviting.

My guest is bound and gagged in my home, as a peace offering to Him. The young women, to the best of my knowledge, believe he has fled of his own volition. He is old enough, a man grown. My son did not recieve such a luxury.

The mask looks up at me. There is no going back from here. I do not know what will happen. Maybe I will transcend, like that first book promised.

I will endeavour to continue to post if I am able. But this is my last post as what can charitably called a free man.

1 comment:

  1. Here lies Carl Pullman, I guess.

    Good job there's folks nearby who owe favours. No need to outsource cleanup duty.