Someone once asked me how I could possibly spend so much time writing about death and the animals who bring it to the unsuspecting masses. After all, I appear to be quite the friendly, stable person. I have a smile for most everyone and I often go out of my way to help those in need. In short, it seems I just don’t fit the image of a person with such horrible characters running around in my head.
I suppose I should feel flattered… I think.
I do not write about these things because I’m a dark person. I have no brooding soul. The things I write about come with the mother of all safety nets…they are purely fictional. I get to create an environment with all of the adrenaline rushing thrill (if I’ve done my job correctly) of jumping from a tower. The ground comes rushing at you. You see each object below with growing clarity. You are in the moment…lost to the sound of your pounding heart. Doubt tugs at the edges of your soul. You see the point of impact; you’ve marked your spot, but before you splatter and bounce, the tension on your left leg increases. Slowly at first, the grip of the bungee cord becomes incessant before you jerked back through the air and out of harm’s embrace.
No, I write what I do, because it offers an escape, a glimpse into a world I have no desire to be part of in real life. If the things I wrote about were true, I would surely end my days by dining on a bullet. Whose sanity could remain whole under such conditions? It’s just entertainment.
Are you not entertained?