This is it

Prologue

Any half truth told with conviction will without doubt become a fact. That is the way I live my life. That is who I am. A reflection of other people’s thoughts and little tales that I have picked up along the way. I display an illusion of intelligence, that has nothing to do with my mind but rather with the voice with which I deliver it. It has become amusing to me how such a great number of us can be consumed by lies; but that is what this world is about. A huge cluster of lies and a massacre of deception, masked in a courageous fight for freedom. If we tell ourselves that it’s true, it may become so. But maybe not.
Humbert Humbert once said that no poet can be a murderer. He lied. He was a manipulator, but I believe every writer is one. A mass of ideas that every human being has ever thought, or ever done. A writer is not his own person , but every being that ever was. Not a happy existence, but one we may choose to ignore. I choose not to ignore it. It may not make me a better writer, but a real one. Humbert lied to the audience and made them sympathize with the devil. You will not sympathize with me. You will not understand what I have done, and will do again. However you will know me, the real me. The truth shall make you despise me. But understand this- in abhorring me, you abhor yourself.


Chapter One


I need to paint you a picture of the girl that was placed in front of me. I can’t paint you an actual picture, because this is a book, and well, I was never any good at painting. So I will paint you a word picture if you can ignore the cliché. She was not beautiful. Technically. Short. Short people can never be described as beautiful, just like slightly overweight people. They can be pretty, gorgeous or “Hot”, just not beautiful. I’m not beautiful either, so I am not looking down on this girl. I do not think that I am better than her. But one can never boast superiority when speaking about looks. She did not choose her looks, and neither did I. I believe that about personality as well, but I will not get into that debate, as it is a tedious one.
She did, however, have beautiful hair. It shone, lucky for her though, as little else did. Her eyes were almost dead compared to those dark chocolate glistening locks. There were curls. I always longed for curls. But then everyone that has curls wanted straight and everyone that had straight wanted curly. The terrible life of a female. And it was terrible. I always wanted to be a boy. So much less complicated. And when I say complicated I mean ridiculous. Girls are in general so, where as men, even though they have a much higher suicide rate, are better. Stronger. Less pulled by emotional strings that can bring a girl down.
When she smiled at me she did display a fabulous array of glossy white teeth. Not hers of course, but it seemed to me that she borrowed most of her personality from else where anyway. So why not do it right. I could see parts of cosmopolitan in her, a little of the catcher in the rye, though she did have to concentrate to do that. Sometimes she even quoted it without realizing it. Very humorous. It wasn’t her though really, she was more of a Marion keys sort of girl. Definitely funny if you can make every day life funny. That’s the way the world is headed though, in the direction of Mc Donald’s for some chemicals and cow shit to destroy our brains. Since when did real humor become something everyone could appreciate. Conclusion; Its not real humor.
Her skin- well her skin was mostly covered with makeup. So, as it advertised, it gave her skin a natural glow and a perfectly even complexion. Worth the money she paid for it… I should think so. I happened to know what it looked like underneath that façade. Now I know what your expecting. Ugly. I may be trying to get a point across here, but I do not lie or exaggerate. Not to you anyway. It was fine. Average. Complexion was a little uneven, but who doesn’t have their outer faults. It’s really besides the point as their inner ones are always much worse. I often find though that people who wear a lot of makeup are always trying to hide something inside as opposed to out. Like actors. But that’s just my opinion, though it is the most important one. To me anyway.
Her voice was deep, not manly, just deep. But I find a lot of writers have deep voices, or very light ones. It’s really either or. They always sound quite thoughtful.
“I wrote something today.”
“And?”
“I had just finished reading a book by Paulo Coelho, he always inspires
Me”
She took her dead eyes away from me and stared thoughtfully out the window. Inspiration for a writer does not come from within, it comes from else where. Like I said, we just reflect.
On to her body. She was short, at the risk of repeating myself. She was small. Small bones. Small everything. Her body was nice though if I do say so my self. Not heavy. Not heavy at all. And I should know. Dead bodies are a dead weight. But I got great excitement in the fact that finally her eyes matched the rest of her. She no longer had any makeup on covering her skin. Her hair was no longer beautiful. Her eyes were the same, slightly more vacant. I guess there may have been something in there. Her voice, well her voice was finally trapped behind those fabulously white veneers. How delightful. I tried to fix her. And like my mother always said; If you’re going to do something, you should do it right.