Rantings and ravings

8

Dear you,

I recognise that we haven't spoken for a while, even if we are doing that, and, if so, this is clearly a one-sided conversation. Anyway, I see that I must give a reason.

To begin with, there isn't a reason, but, rather, many, and their scythe. They lurk in the darkness where my mind takes refuge and attack it. They beat me with vowels and adjectives until they've left me bloody and bruised, and, only then, do they begin the worst part.

They listen to me.

They understand and comprehend what I say. They nod and agree with me. They have the power to stop anytime, but they don't.

The reasons are named Dr Wurst, Dr Sanisburg and Professor Angler. Their scythe is hope.

They told me that there is a slight possibility that I could be let out. Out of this prison reeking of lost identity and murder. The hope is too much for me. I told She-who-must-not-be-named this but she yelled at me and told me to get of the phone. But that's okay, she hasn't been the same since the accident.

This is where I leave you now. I need to wash all the ashes of my skin. Scrub until I'm red as anger. I apologise that I'm dark this letter. All the universe has caught up to me and we're tied for first place. I fear that I might be embellished in silver.

Till death do us part,
Rosemund Pike