Compliments or insults, it makes no difference -- I cannot tolerate your
Lies. Suffocate with vigor. There is no repent, there is no time to
Question why I do this, because I must or do I just find sick pleasure in
Displeasure, in your pain, in your fear, in your need to feel the feelings
Of my unbridled hate? There is hardly a difference between living and
Dying, only consciousness, rot and a peculiar odor. The time it takes to
Change from one to the other can be no more than the blink of a lazy eye if
I decide. I can smell your fear dripping down your leg. There is no escape
From my grip of death. Convince yourself you're in a dream. Close your
Eyes, tighter; you're still seeing things. Whimper, cower, shake like you
Did when you were a child hiding under your sheets from the beast under the
Bed. If you cannot see it, it cannot see you. That was rule number one and
It no longer applies. Wake up. You have plenty of time for memories. Now
Focus on me. I am the last thing you will see. I am your docent for the
Descent ahead. Brace yourself and prepare. Beg. Beg for your family. Beg
For your friends and your pets. Beg for all the things you would never do
Anyway. Beg for nothing, I do not care. You define desperation. You
Epitomize the weak, the helpless, the insubstantial. Your time has come.
The knife slides in.
