Chapter 53: Dear B
I am not your cheap whore.
You had no right. You have no right. I know that now.
The world should be eradicated of scum like you. Forgive me for failing to see the shining button on your cloak of filth. You reek, like the stench of stale breath the morning after a night of debauchery. You reek. A bath would do you well, some toothpaste would work well to erode against the nicotine stained teeth. But nothing can cleanse the stench that comes from within, that seeps out every pore. From the inside out, you rot in moral decay, breeding maggots of immoralities that beget darker disgusts. You disgust me.
Where once dissociative amnesia advanced your status to a position of trustworthiness and admiration tinged only by the nagging unclear taste of fear, you are now reduced to truth. And the truth is, you are not flawed, you are not subjected to any mental disorder, you are a result of choice. The choice to choose the immoralities taught by those who inflicted us and others. You chose not to stand against them, you chose to embrace their defiling actions. You chose their foul character that plays purity by day and unclean by night. You favour dark and enjoy the smack of its immoral delights. You disgust me.
Were you not once on the receiving end of violent unwanted debauchery yourself? Yet you chose to become. Why? How could you? How could you feign innocence and deceive me so? When all along you played the very parts they conceived into existence for your immoral pleasures. Don’t tell me you have no say in the man you became. That the abused became the abuser not by choice. I am ignorant no longer of choice. If it were that you should behave in their likeness when in their presence under their instruction perhaps then I would of understood. But although instruction could have been, presence was not.
What became of you in your travels abroad? Just like your father you too would sell me for status. I am not for sale. Not anymore.
Who else do you inflict taught immorals upon? The world should be eradicated of scum like you.
Was it not enough just to inflict yourself upon me? Did you have to bring in others? Did it have to be on record for broadcast? Was it instruction? What was the price you would pay if you failed to deliver if delivery was due? What is the price tag I am worth to you? There would never have been a price high enough that I would inflict such upon another.
But for you, if I happened to fall upon your acquaintance again, my hand might just happen to fall upon your windpipe with just a little too much weight behind it to allow recovery. I long for the day.