hard being cleverer than the screws; they
know that I am and they resent it, sohalf my time I
spend attempting to be crude and silly. You have to
adjust to the normin here, and that norm is becoming
younger, more violent and increasingly aggressive.
Drugs flow. Knives flash. I turn away from trouble,
still trying, in my way, to be good without being seen
People say life is a dream and it would be so
good if it was. It would mean I
future by depriving
them of their mother and tagging them with my own
dreadful label. Suppose thewhole of my life has been
just a kind of troubled sleep, sluggish mostly, but
feverish at times with periods of real nightmare?
Certainly, the things I have done Iseem to have done
in a dream, and the person I killed is like a dream
The obsession that overtook her and me is a
curious phenomenon, a chemical process.
sprang from somewhere like a witch on her
broomstick, a separateand menacing power,
distorted. This kind of attraction makes billions of
atoms rushtogether, lights conflagrations in the
blood that reach nerves, heart and brain, chestand
stomach. Any sensations of exquisite delight come
with acute distress.
After years of anguish caused by obsession
came a frenzied craving, a physical needfor relief
from the tension so acute it could not be ignored. She
seemed almost invisible when I approached her that
last fatal time in the garden. Shewas myself, but
shapeless and without substance. The buzzing of the
insects was loud,and in that blazing heat the whole
world hung as if enchanted.
The pain of it drove me, soft-footed, towards
her. She saw me coming, she saw therug, she opened
her eyes and frowned, then stared in a disgusted way,
then burst out laughing. She laughs when
instead of crying, I know that sowell. She sat and
watched me as I came nearer, her face rigid, her eyes
enormous. She watched me with indulgent
confidence. The proximity of her was toohard to
bear.It was then that she turned away and I was able
to make the cut.
It was then that her eyes turned frightened and, in the ladder of light that slantedover her shoulder, a million tiny things danced in scarlet.
the love of
she begged.She was bleeding. But nothing she said could
have stopped me.
Now she is gone there is little of me left, nothing
but scraps that take time to find.
Nothing more can happen to me now, and I am