Letter One

Quick now.

Answer my call.

For the love of god can you be quiet and listen to me? Good. Now, on with the story.

There was once a time in my life where I thought the end was nigh. I was right.
My last days were, unfortunately, a complete and utter waste of time. Nothing other than normal occurred, and I feel nothing had changed. The spirit of the apocalypse descended on the final hour, but other than the anomaly of death, my point still stands.

The gentile repetition of the daily ritual has always been... troubling to me. One, two, three, the list goes on in the repeating swirl that is the order. Sure, the fragile lament of spontaneity gets to be unbearable, but the monotony is what truly killed me. Continuation of this stagnant nature would be the equivalent of being strapped to a chair with the likes of A Clockwork Orange and screening a loop of every horrid morning routine scene in cinema, while, of course, getting waterboarded.

Anyway, I forget the story so I'll leave it at that.