It’s not my fault; I never wanted any of this – I never expected these things to happen. I can never see what exactly happens until it unfolds before me – in my mind’s eye – they always seem quite as happy as anyone else does. Then terrible things start to happen. It’s completely out of my hands.
I live a different life; I am never alone inside my head – but the rest of you, for the rest of you it must be as if you are living in a hideous and deafening silence, alone in a city that never wakes. How do you control the voices inside your head? How do you stop them dictating their stories – stop them revealing their guilty secrets and their deepest desires to you, their Grand Confessor? They tell me all these little private asides – and I want to announce them, to birth them into this modern world.
It’s the page – this deadly page, any scrap of white paper, the empty white walls of public toilets; I’ve taken to carrying a pen, constantly writing and rewriting. Desperate to save them from my subconscious – to save them from themselves. I’m sorry you had to see me here, in this wretched light. I’m not a monster; it’s just fiction. You have to worship your protagonist before you take away everything he loves, before you can destroy him.
You have to destroy to create – destroy to create, or no one will ever care.
The prompts for this week come from Steph at http://bekindrewrite.net (as always) with Deadly Paper and Deafening, from Trifecta (http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/) with Wretched and from Sunday Scribblings with Modern. Sorry if the links don’t work, there’s something wrong with WordPress…