careful reading this. Life is a trick. A trap. A Sisyphean endeavor. A train on a circular track that cannot change paths unless there is some sort of active sabotage to provoke a derailment. Thank you for everything. My life. Your companionship. Your generosity. I know of no other way to escape redundancy but this. I love you. Thank you.
The note was found in a room containing only a mattress with light green sheets. A body rested on top. A clear glass full of water sat next to the simple bed and the window flooded the space with light and the sounds of birds in spring. Sparks of light shot out from a crumpled foil wrapper and as I went to investigate, I noticed a tiny syringe neatly placed beside the glass on the inner side of the bed frame.
Integrated graphology is a curious subject. Some people have such a static script. Others have trouble at banks because their signature is constantly evolving. I recognized my kind in the letter. A variety of fonts, each with its respective order. A hard slant to the right until the word derailment. Then it leveled off until but this with the symbols becoming hyper-legible. All following letters leaned to the left at an almost-45 degree angle and were barely intelligible. This note displayed an epicenter of sick energy that emitted its last call before self-extinguishing. A frantic, manic last breath fleeing in the form of words. These scrawls conveyed a beautiful nuclear combustion without a doubt.
No name was added to the bottom of the page, although we all knew whose it was. The only thing to bring it to a close was an undecipherable word that appeared to say Bye with the y crossed out or maybe it wasn't even there.
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