The death

I have a half-written entry in my draft pages. I cannot finish it because I'm not normal. I'm failing, the past few days have had me doubting my sanity, doubting my control, doubting myself.

The latino girl is lyingin my bed and watching me. She knows I do not love her, yet she continues to love me unconditionally. She watches me read local papers on the internet, waiting for the article that will tell me that they have found the dead bodies. I do not find it, and my fingers tremble the more everyday.

It is hot, and I'm sweating all day, it drips and drips, and rolls over my lips, and tastes salty. Like her tears yesterday night, and the night before that. I licked them away in my perversion, the vampire in me feeds on their emotion, fear, pain, hope, joy, I come in and feast, grovel in their attention.

Oh, it is quiet in here. Listen well, listen close. Nothing. Not a sound. Then the gentle beeps that signal my phone. Ligh beams shine from it, lighting up the room and lighting up my eyes. I grab at it, and do not hear the deep voice of a man in control. I hear the nasal whine of a chinese deivery man.

Jacob, call me. I'm in trouble.

The cuban girl smiles at me and lazily stands up, her clothes falling from her. I look away, and I dislike her. I only feel lust for her, and I wish she would simply go away after we had slept together. She is boring, she is irritating, and I hate it that she loves me.

The mirror shows me my face, unkempt beard, red eyes and a weak mouth. I'm losing my nerve, and what I observe in that mirror is a death. My death.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Let me finish the story, you go crazy with worry, kill yourself, and that is the end of John Ben-Younes, Mercernary-Psychologist. I had already came to the conclusion that you had been captured by the CIA, or had dropped off the face of the earth. Must of been one hell of a party.
Smile ugw:)
Afterall, I'm sure you have been in tougher situtions.

8:02 PM  

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