The Following Is A Dramatization Of Real Events.
The hungry ache slowly inches upwards through my torso, like some particularly malignant cancer. The thirst is worse than that, as if a small dead mammal crawled down my throat while I slept. I could give in. The future would still be uncertain, but the outlook would be less bleak than it is now. I could face her accusing look. But I’m sticking to my principles. I never committed a crime and I won’t pretend I did just for some peace. I’d rather stay in this room and rot.
I mean, for crying out loud, if she got so upset over the washing up, how will she react if she finds out I haven’t once vacuumed under the couch in the past nine months?
There’s been a small amount of drama between one of my housemates and the rest of us recently. It’s a long story. My other housemates have all fled elsewhere. I’m pretty much staying in my room until they get back. Apart from maybe going to the door to collect a pizza delivery.
To Be A Magician 