PS; I Will Kill You: Fond Memories

There’s nothing more satisfying than a pleasant reminder of nostalgia in one’s work.

When I first saw your quivering, horrific body in my apartment, like some terrible reflection of myself suffering all the emotional trauma I endured as of then but as physical pain, I considered this aa some cosmic moralizing that I would have to interpret once I woke up from my drunken stupor. Then I remembered you punctured my skull, doing more to it than I had done on my own, and began to scream.

More recently I have discovered I can recall your memories. A skill I wish i had access to when i was starting out my century long career of mimicking you and doing your old job, but one shouldn’t look a gift-horse in the mouth. In your case you shouldn’t have looked a stone cutter’s tomb in the mouth but that’s telling. What I do want to remind you of is all three times you’ve woken up not knowing anything that mattered.

The first time you were under a stone. Now I’m banking on that you’ll only remember the suffering but I’m willing to risk the chance you can prove that you’re you only because I write this under the assumption that I’ve killed you this time. The stone was cut into your shape, as was the tableau you were lying on, suffocating and crushing just enough so you couldn’t move. The soundless, lightless horror was someone’s sick idea of “thinning the herd” but that’s more spoilers for you.

Anyhow, you screamed and expelled just about everything that made you human which only crushed you more, then the hunger started and that’s where you lost it. A tooth broke off in your mouth and punctured your cheek and tongue, draining what you craved it of your own body, an act equal to running a car on fumes, and for three excrucuating minites you lifted a stone as large as the building blocks of egypt with your knees and wrists. I wish I could have watched until you actually escaped, but that would mean I would see you escape, so I lost interest after you stopped twitching in your own shit coated internal organs.

The second time started with that same cute little jiggle! You, a seizure, the moonlight kissing your agony like a nurse and me screaming in your place. You went blank twice as long as I did, which I only know because of the crappy digital clock flipped over onto the ground near that damned kid. I felt as if you gave me the world and then abandoned me with it, telling me nothing about how bad the hunger would be. Worse, but luckier than you, you left me to destroy my restroom with a combination of everything that made me human and made me regret drinking after eating spicy food. I think for you it was like having tto live out that terrible first time in reverse, which makes me giggle a bit whenever I think about it, but also makes me wonder if you spend that whole night reliving your life in reverse. Its one hell of a life, or unlife if you prefer, but you lived it and if you’re lucky you won’t remember any of it. Hell, I’ll be lucky if you don’t remember much of it, besidea the downs that is.

The third time was with our first letter! I was hoping to keep you together enough to read it while I was present but there was something between us and this time I hope that’ll be just as dead as you. There’s something about hand carving a tree to express one’s feelings that even couples in love understand, so that I wrote the last message on the one I pinned you under shouldnt surprise you. I tried readjusting the branch ao you’d die in one go and I’d have the record for world’s largest impailing but you just had to go and make friends.

Well, I hope I filled in some gaps, gave you enough to think about, and that the stone slab this one is on has more of thar nostalgic feel and close the loop your mere existence opened up.

So long and thanks for the new memories

PS; If I Didn’t This Time,I Will Kill You and Your Little Dogs Too.

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