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,