It is time. The time is here, almost here, a few more minutes, please, just a few. Let me speak. Go on. We won't hurt you. Not badly anyway, the way bears do it, mauling men the way they do. We're not animals, and if we were, we wouldn't speak to you...just sounds, guffaws, onomatopoeias, clickclickclicking at your throat.
No, don't get up, we just want to talk. You and me and us. It's not big dealio, just calm your titties, sit down, and enjoy our company. It's so rare to talk to you like this, just the two of us in this box of a room, like a mansion, big, tall, empty, lonely. Don't be afraid--a mansion is home. Cold, tall, empty, lonely. Your home.
You remember, don't you, the way blood spills with a glass of milk, dripdripdripping onto the linoleum like in sports drinks commercials. What is all that nonsense, selling things we don't buy and will never use? When the drinker drinks and runs and breathes you'd think they were going through a heart attack just waiting for life to start again. Hurling through space like nothing could ever stop them the way dinosaurs haven't stopped living--what time is it? Don't make me do all of the talking, you know I hate that all of that sit the fuck down.
Oh dear now you cry. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry shut the fuck up. Fingers thrust down your eyesockets and how do you feel? Cold, tall, empty, lonely? No? Explain. Perhaps like the wind of the winter, the flowers dying by your bedside, and they feel. Petals opening like puberty, take that away. Do you feel? We feel. They feel.
You don't?
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