by Mr. Mean-Spirited
This message is for you, my dear reader. You know who you are – yes, it is you, dirtying my words with your eyes. Soiling my prose with your gaze. Infecting the very page.
I might not exactly be inspired of God, but I am sometimes enough of a prognosticator to know what is going to occur in the days to come. I don’t have to be a seer to discern what is in your future. I don’t have to be a prophet to know what is going to happen to the likes of you.
My God, my God, you will die in agony. You are going to die a horrible, painful death. You are going to suffer something terrible.
Right at this very moment as you read this paragraph, you have a slight pain you are neglecting – yes, the one that comes, but doesn’t quite go away – that condition that you never had a doctor evaluate, that one – well, things are going to turn real serious, real fast. Only, it is now too late, and there’s absolutely nothing a surgeon can do. Too far gone. There aren’t painkillers in the world that can deal with something like this.
Time to get your affairs in order. But, then, what do I know?