I’ve become one of them. It’s happened. I’m all rage, muscle and attitude. I hunger for the snap of your neck. The sounds of the ropes breaking. The crack of your back as I bend your body senseless. You’re my toy now! My slave. You can’t hide because you don’t know I’m coming for you. You can’t smell me, because I’m not really here. What was that? I’m here lurking in the shadows. I’m listening. I’m waiting to pounce. All I need is my hands. My strength. My will. And you’re mine. You won’t say no, because there won’t be time to do so. No screams, just blood. And no trace. Because I was never here. No proof. No fingerprints.

I exist in your imagination. I’m around every corner. If I want you, I have you. No permission given.

You’re mine. Now come here!

“I tend to open my mouth without thinking,” I said, not looking her in the eyes. “I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s too late now for an apology. I’m pretty sure that’s why you’re trying to do here, right?” Kathryn paced in front of the door.

“Don’t leave. Finish your tea, at least. Then go. Never see me again, if you wish.”

“It’s not that easy, Bernard. I can’t walk away now. I’ve already given you two thousand dollars. Would you give it back?”

“Why would I do that? Didn’t you get what you came for? You didn’t like it? You didn’t pay for conversation.”

“You’re infuriating! I can’t stand you.”

Kathryn reached for the door, but while her hand was still on the doorknob, I stopped her.

“Don’t leave, K. I love you.”

“You said it again!”

“What if it were true this time?” I asked, caressing her cheek.

“But it’s not.”

“It’s not a lie, K. I guess it’s not a truth either. But if you wish, I’d give you half back. Half back because you’re my finest customer and I upset you. Surely, this is not how you wanted to spend the evening.” I opened up my wallet and began counting out one hundred dollar bills.

“That’s truly disgusting. Keep it!”

K walked out and I never saw her again. Not even on the street. Or at the grocery store. All of those times that I thought were happy coincidences were all part of the act. Except that she was paying me to fulfill them, but she was doing all of it. She was the sham. I was just the boy, slowly falling in love and now I was left with nothing but a wallet full of bills.

And tomorrow it would all start again.

At 16, I had no life. Not a good one. Not one that involved boys or girls and kissing them. On the lips. Or maybe seeing them naked. The good stuff. My life skipped right over that and gave me shit. My grandma was dying, and because I have no say in anything ever, we moved to be with her. I love grandma and I want to be an understanding person and stuff, but in all honesty, I miss my house. My neighborhood. My old friends. My old crushes that didn’t even realize they were crushes. Nothing was good anymore. Even my iPod started its shuffle on junk. Some boy band I must have liked when I was 8.

Then I look into my mother’s eyes and see the tears camping out back there. Always. Every single morning. Even the mornings where grandma is awake, drinking coffee and chattering away like she isn’t about to die. My grandma is optimistic. That’s what my dad says and I have to agree. It makes us smile. It makes me forget my old life. The one that is too far away to even imagine it still exists without me in it. It does. My best friend told me she started dating Brian. My crush. Seriously. I don’t need her. Or Brian.

But when my world starts slowly falling apart, I look to grandma and she says, “What about cookies?”

She doesn’t even know about Brian, because I haven’t told her yet. But somehow. She does know.

One day after college graduation, Danny didn’t feel a thing. He was sitting at his mom’s kitchen table with this off-white paper full of frilly script that meant absolutely nothing. He heard footsteps, shoved his diploma under his seat and hid his apathy behind what he hoped was a convincing smile.

“Do you want eggs?”

“Nah, I ate already. Thanks anyways.”

“Well, well…soon you’ll be telling me that you’ve done the laundry too.”

Danny laughed.

His mom meant well, but it wouldn’t be long before she wanted him out of the house. He could feel the tension in the room. It was like a static charge waiting to happen. That sudden shock and it would all be over. Fast and quick like a fatal heart attack.

He had already failed before he had started. Colleen said no. His apartment was no longer his apartment. He was back at his mom’s place. His last day of work was three weeks ago. Goodbye, Boston! Hello, back alley Texas. It was a very unsettling feeling. I guess the shock was normal.

But for how long would he feel this way? His heart raced and he felt like lying very still on cold tile. So that’s what he did.

I have a confession to make:

I have not read a book in a really long time. I think it’s been a year. I started and stopped so many books in 2011. I did not finish a one. There’s no good reason why I haven’t been reading. I’ve been busy. I’ve been stressed.

But that’s never stopped me before.

When I was in college, I used to gobble up “for pleasure” books all the time. Mostly during the holidays. But I was a writing major and I was doing a lot of freaking reading all throughout college.

I think that’s why writing here has been really hard. Reading helps me examine my own writing. It inspires me! It gets me in story mode.

The writing I do on Fake Persona is not supposed to be complete. I don’t feel like I’m writing stories here. I’m purely writing as an exercise. Sometimes there is a beginning, middle and end, but other times, there is purely prose. I’m a short story writer for sure. I’ve failed many times in writing longer pieces, so that’s why you don’t see many here.

That’s the hard stuff. The stuff I keep to work on.

Probably no one knows, other than my husband, that I come up with most of my prose the very day that I push publish. It comes out in spurts. Sometimes a few short things all at once and that is a very good thing. Sometimes I only have an idea for the first sentence and it takes me a very long time to work it into something that I think is worth the “publish now” button.

It can be hard to let go.

Sometimes it only takes five or ten minutes, but other times it sits as a draft for days, weeks or months. Never finished. Incomplete. Unpublished.

But each like, reblog and/or comment, inspires me to keep it up!

I’m like everyone else. I think I suck. I get so down on myself that I feel guilty for not writing, but nothing is there. A total blank page in my mind. Every single thing I type out is no good. I just keep hitting backspace. Over thinking. Under thinking. Sometimes it’s easy, but most days it’s very hard. No excuses. It’s just the way writing goes.

So if there’s silence and you want me to write something. Tell me so! Inspire me to keep digging for new ideas or to rethink old ones.  Go ahead and nudge the ask box. Give me a prompt! I don’t bite, but my words might.

Cindy waved, but I pretended not to see her face in the crowd. There she goes again with her goofy grin, waves flailing and I looked right past her. She smiled as I walked without any hint of recognition. I think she thought I was joking. I wasn’t. I said I didn’t want to see her again.

Carl told her I was coming back home for the holidays. I hate the fucking holidays. I hailed a taxi and asked for the nearest liquor store.

“What’s ailing you?” the driver asked, turning down his radio.

I didn’t want to answer this, because what was ailing me was none of his business. I just wanted to close my eyes, ignore the smell of the backseat and ponder the likeliness that there might be dried blood on the carpet.

“I guess it’s the holidays.”

He nodded, turned up the death metal and we drove. I didn’t stare into the night sky. No amount of hopefulness was going to cheer me up. I didn’t want to wish on stars or live in a romantic comedy.

I sort of wanted to stab this cabbie and speed off into the night. I realized that was a pretty sinister thought and immediately started thinking about Santa Claus and his elves and Cindy wearing a thong and oh my god, when did I become a pervert?

Maybe I should have said hello.

Twenty-five dollars later, I was on the sidewalk outside a small convenience store. I didn’t want booze. I craved companionship. All of a sudden. I don’t know. Maybe it was the Santa bullshit, but I was suddenly feeling okay.

The shit year didn’t really matter. My dog dying, Cindy cheating on me and flunking at life mostly. I still had a shitty job and vacation days and all new city to explore, but here I was, Christmas Eve…zipping my fly up in the middle of a neighborhood I’d never seen before…wishing for something to happen.

Then just like in the movies, Cindy drove up in a red VW something and offered me a ride. I took it. Like old times. For old times.

I wasn’t moving back, but forward.

And in a few days, I’d be gone again. No Cindy. Exactly how I wanted it.

Right?

It’s been ten days and no word. I was mid-sentence when it happened.

“Oh, have you tried…”

And then nothing. My friends thought I was joking around. “My voice,” I mouthed, but everyone kept shaking their hands and cracking up. “No really. It’s gone!”

No one believed me.

My voicemail is filled with messages from friends and my mom. I can’t return their calls.

“Let’s go out to lunch!”

“Henry, are you there? It’s your mother.”

I’m here and hungry, but I’m a shut in.

I tried to write an email the other day, but the letters disappeared as quickly as I could type them. Tap-tap-tap. Delete-delete-delete.

“Hey,” I yelled, but no one heard me. “Who’s doing that?”

No answer.

I read books, scroll Tumblr and think about telling my best friend I’m in love with her. I can never do it now.

Then I remember Say Anything and John Cusack and the boombox. Then I think of her laughing in my face when I reveal my big secret. I stay home instead.

I eat popcorn and watch Say Anything for the 11th time this week. Wishing life was that easy. That I could simply say anything.

I can’t count to ten.

One. Two. Seven. Nine.

I never learned how, but it didn’t stop me from pursuing a career as an actor. I’m on Sesame Street. Maybe you recognize me? I’m the green monster.

No, wait, or is it the purple?

I’m positive I’m the yellow one.

I think.

It’s so quiet.

I hear you in the next room.

I don’t knock, but I hang out like a creeper.

I listen to you sleep.

It’s not exciting.

I know what you’re dreaming, because I make dreams come true.

I look in the mirror, then I look around your house and my face is everywhere.

I eat the cookies you left out, lick my lips and go out the front door.

I grab the reins and I’m on my way.

Kat packed a suitcase:

-marshamallows
-suspenders
-swiss army knife
-silk pajamas

She left a typewriter, five empty fountain pens and one notebook. There was writing in the margins and on the front and back covers, inside and out.

No blanks.

On the page.

But in the gun.

Was something else.