We love moldy blue cheese, its tombstone shaped like a tiny spire.
Hey!
Look at those bright red berries, crushed and scattered everywhere.
We are the dried maggot husks left behind before butterflies emerge. Perhaps the sooner robins die, the better.
At times, we are rotten burial shrouds, layer upon layer, wrapped around the dew on withered roses.
We hope our dreams are full of mold, greasy yellow stains mixed with white fly eggs, black beetles crawling all over our faces, and sharp bee stingers boring into our ear canals.
Every twisted shadow smiles in our eyes. We love to see pale faces and mouths that howl like black holes without making a sound. Their feet dangling in the air are the greatest ballad of all.
Praise us! We are the most wonderful musicians!
They sew our ears shut and think that means we can't hear the music?
Ha!
We are hysterical!
We are perfectly sane!
They laugh at us and call us mad!
Mad?
Mad!
Then we'll become madmen who live in their gutters and haunt their fears!
P.S. 1. The protagonist is ill, yes, mentally ill. The kind who kills people. Don't pray for them to be a saint.
2. The protagonist is religious, but the author isn't. Please point out any errors, and I'll do my best to fix them.
3. Third-person narration, mostly from the protagonist's point of view, though it occasionally shifts to supporting characters. The purpose is to highlight the protagonist's personality.
4. Please don't get too immersed in the story. We're all law-abiding citizens.
5. The author is sensitive, so if you don't like it, please leave and read something else. I'm open to suggestions, but don't want snark, especially unreasonable snark. Please don't give the author a reason to abandon the story. Thank you.
Theme: No matter what, you cannot ultimately resist fate.
