Journal: Entry for Kuke

Pheus Tolditz told me the best defence is a good blade straight into the neck and I believed him. I was saying over and over: Moolti-pass, moolti-pass, moolti-pass, as though it was some kind of talisman to ward off evil during the long-dark-cold-lonely-fucken nights in Dumb City. People kept describing me as 'numb' and 'vacant' and I was not inclined to disagree. For the most part though I was simply bored and would take it out on people in subtle ways. An arched eye-brow during a particularly wrenching sob-story; a wink at a funeral. I would out-stare children and whisper terrible things to old people. In my mind sometimes I am William Shatner performing Elton John's Rocket Man at some sci-fi awards show in 1978 but most of the time I'm the feeling you get when you realise you left the kids at School and now it's Sunday.

I take pleasure in all things. Some have said this makes me a bad person, a Monster. I think I am simply more able to take enjoyment from things others shun. Things such as Cricket, and the feel of bark on the skin of my face, and screaming in the streets as it pours pours pours, and so on.

These days I carry about with me three things: Plyers, duct tape, and the knowledge that I can instill fear and dread into the heart of any person I choose, whenever I choose. In establishing these skills and bringing them out, making them present in the haunted meat-sack that is I guess what passes for me, Pheus Tolditz created something which he hoped to use. A tool. Unfortunately for Pheus, he realised too late that he was vastly mistaken.

I am no tool. And Pheus Tolditz is no longer with us.

And right now, I need a sandwich.