There’s a forest where I live, in my strange house. It’s dark, cold, inviting. A perfect place…for all my friends.
My suit and tie fit sharply, the angles reminiscent of a drawing, matching the painting of myself upon my mantle wall as I descend to meet and greet. They arrive in their fancy cars all dressed to the nines as the cold wind whispers against the delicate hairs on their necks, gloves and jewels of fancy shining in the silverlight, childlike eyes full of wonder and inquiry at what I have made for myself since my absence.
They were so silly, coming to my lonely faraway place when I asked for the long awaited company I craved, questions and chatter abundant as social graces and sanity started slowly dissipating with the ravenous drinking of all the wine my father’s bony fingers worked for.
Did they know, as they felt dizzy and fell one by one like Autumn's children, floating to the ground, it was really drugged? I suspect not.
Ah, the delusion was paramount. The trick simple, effective. All usually would be on the ground in their homes somewhere, their children asleep and dreaming of riding on the backs of winged horses while they fall in an endless spiral of their self-hallucinations though smoke and liquor, like the million faces of a diamond whirling on its silver pedicel.
Instead they are here, in their finery, stiff like statues Michelangelo or Da Vinci had the pleasure of carving themselves, every detail lined with an aura of perfection. I have fooled them. I have won.
Tomorrow, should morning light break, their children will be taken by others though their respective dwellings, learning, playing, laughing and not give much thought to the key in my pocket where I’ve locked my toys away to rest and wake before the struggle will begin.
I feel a sick, sadistic pleasure ran though my veins at the thought some will be penniless, orphaned, left to rot.
Unless demands are complied with that is, but I digress, I not have much hope.
But it is there, the faintest glimmer. Shining like the tiniest gem in a box of gold.
I don’t not reach for it, however. I will wait. Because I know them, they know me...or do they?
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