Astrid. That is her name, though I don't see a direct trail to the importance of a name. I like to call them titles, because I feel as though they are labels, distractions, something to pull our attention away from the reality of who - what - we are. Many decades ago, someone gave the first name. I have name, as well. Some may think its cruel, some may think It isn't right. But I do, and it's real, and I very much exist, and I plan to stay that way. I suppose most of you will not continue reading this story. How I despise that word. Story. It leaves the taste of black licorice and stale bread in my mouth. I imagine the word has the scent of tar to my nose. The defenition: an account of imaginary or real people and events told for entertainment. But I am not imaginary. I do not put on a display for such petty things as "entertainment". My entertainment does not come from my line of work, my line of infestation. I get no entertainment. So, maybe "story" is not the word to be used here. Maybe reccolection, or recital, or perhaps we should name it, title it, as it really is. A narraration. I like the sound of that. So I will tell you this narraration, narrorated by me of course. Maybe it will give you a better idea of who - what - I really am
As for right now, this point in time, my title will stay annonymous. As annonymous as the white light of the man that tells someone that is is safe to cross the road. He does his job, so I will now do mine. Watch. Wait. Then at the right moment, finish the job as I was meant to do.
For now, you may call me Mia. Nothing else.
Mia...
