Today was going to be the day. My Glorious Epic was going to finally be written. I had long dreamed of it, the story to make me known, the tale to put me on the map. I stared into the mirror, and the gaunt withered figure greeted me again, like he had every day for years, I dubbed him the follower. I told him that it was finally the day. I thought he would be happy. I thought he would finally change back into the healthy, groomed man he once was. But he didn't, instead he mocked me, repeating all my words. Rage swelled up inside me. Who was he to make fun of me. "You bastard!" I screamed at him. And once again he stole my words. My fists clenched and I swung at him, but my strike had only harmed me, or so I thought. I looked at him once more and saw that his fist was bloodied and broken, as was his entire universe. In a split second his entire existence fell in to many pieces and scattered across the filthy linoleum floor of my bathroom. I had killed him. I let out a violent cackle and ran to my study to finally complete my magnum opus. As soon as my hands went to work typing, I noticed the blood and pain in my right hand. What had he done to me. I gazed into the wound and saw him staring at me once again. " WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?! YOU MOTHER FUCKER! HOW AM I TO WRITE LIKE THIS?" I fell to my knees and began to weep. Then it struck me. I'll remove the hand. I am ambidextrous after all. Besides he had contaminated my hand. It was his now. I went to my kitchen and found the clever. It was covered in dried meat and flies, but that did not phase me. I had a goal in mind. So with a single downward motion I separated myself from his evil. I felt instant relief and ran back to work on my epic. After hours upon hours it was finally finished. I held my creation in my hand and cried out in rejoice. Then suddenly everything was gone. I awoke in an unusual room. It was completely white and so very clean. I attempted to move but I looked down and saw I was restrained. I looked to my right arm and saw that it was now wrapped in stained red bandages. He had taken me somewhere. Like when he took father so long ago. I scanned the mysterious room and saw the follower with his eyes locked on mine on a far wall. "WHERE HAVE YOU TAKEN ME? WHERE IS MY EPIC?" Rather than give me the answers I so desperately needed he simply mocked me again. I began to thrash against the restaints, but before I could be freed two burly men in white suits ran in and held me down while an authoritative looking woman jammed a syringe into my forearm. I went numb and fell into a deep abyss. After an eternity I opened my eyes once more, and saw the woman from earlier. She was speaking with a man. He seemed familiar, I had seen him before. When I was just a boy. He spoke to my mother. He told her all sorts of horrible lies about my father. He said he was deeply troubled. He said he was a danger to himself and others. None of that was true. Father was a genius, a writer like myself, determined to write his Glorious Epic. Except he never finished his. They took him away. Locked him in a Sanitarium. I wouldn't let them do the same to me. I owed it to my father to bring my epic to the world. The man said the same things to the woman that he had said to my mother all those years ago. " LIAR!" I screamed at him. " YOU WORK FOR THE FOLLOWER! WHERE IS MY EPIC?" " Should we sedate him again? " Asked the woman. The man simply shook his head no. " I want to speak with him. Micheal, I am a doctor, I want to help you, like I helped your father." He hadn't helped my father. When he returned my father he was a husk. He could barely move or speak. They had destroyed his once great mind with some procedure. " You killed my father. You made him something he wasn't. You didn't want the world to read his epic, but mine will be read. I WILL BE KNOWN!" The "doctor " sighed. "A frontal lobe lobotomy appears to be our only option. We warned his mother that the disorder was genetic, but she was so infatuated with his father." He said to the woman. My gaze shifted to the follower. He seemed to smirk at the word lobotomy. I don't remember much from the time after the procedure. My memories came back very slowly. I had forgotten my epic. He had taken my life from me. He checks up on me every few weeks. I have since been released into a house with a caretaker. I regret killing her. But she was a nuisance. Her corpse has started to rot, but the spoiled meat seems to taste better. The doctor will be arriving soon, so I have to start bringing this to a close. I intend to even the score. He took my life from me, so I shall do the same to him. But he had the courtesy to put me to sleep for my procedure. My one and only regret is that I can not write my own epic, but I guess the reporters will make me known. The door bell just rang. I can't wait to see the follower's reaction to this. Maybe he'll finally stop mocking me.
