CRC: </datbasrec:full>
From:<&;?%err#unknownsversourceadrss%.>
To:You
Subject: The future. Of us.
I exist, you know. Shadows don’t kill.
I’m out there: living, breathing, you know. The dead don’t kill.
I like you. You amuse me. Your antics, conveniently swallowed up in the greater scheme of things, are entertaining. Your struggles can draw a smile from my face. Good job, you. Very impressive. The tiny red stain your blood makes on the fabric of existence is astounding. But as for your screams? Your last words. Unheard. Except for me, of course.
I’m sorry about that. That was like giving a dead rabbit to a kid for the noble purpose of convincing him the the easter bunny didn’t exist, wasn’t it?
I take that back, I’m not sorry. You have the right to know.
I flatter you, to choose you as my tribute to the nonexistent greater power known more commonly as a god. Without me, after all, you would never even have made that stain: that tiny red bloom. And you would have been unheard in your final moments anyways, I have to tell you, not even by a person who doesn’t care like me.
Oops, I lied. I do care, more than the others and different from the others. I care very, very much.
Consider this a love letter.
Sincerely,
…
(Well, now, I can’t give you my name now, can I? It’s okay, I’m happy with unrequited love, it entertains me too- even if it is I who feel it. You may call be sadistic, but in truth, I’m more masochistic. Every cut I make hurts just as much for me, but to stop is to give up on us. The future us.
Since I can’t give you my name, I’ll at least point you in the right direction. I believe you have seen my bloody signature around you very often lately. I love my ink- isn’t it a beautiful color? The color of war, hand in hand with death, for one- but I like to think of it as the color of passion.
I’ve gone on long enough now. This was meant to be a cryptic little confession. Too late.
See you soon!)
<@#&^%err#invalsversourcreadpin></err></blokquo>
