The Quill’s Pitch

The Quill’s Pitch

Come closer. Step forth if you dare. Be drawn into the world I create with the twitch of a finger, the wave of some hands. Watch with wonder, as my dreams become your dreams become real. What do you hold? Look at your hands. Nothing more than silver smoke, tickling your palm as it trickles from your grasp. Gasp with amazement as I kill my darlings— all the better to thrill and entertain you, my dear. One. By one. They fall. In the name of suspenseful entertainment. I give you the labyrinth of smoke and mirrors scribbled in the pages of your mind. There is no friendly woodsman to save you. Do you really need to be saved? What waits for you outside that compares with the kaleidoscope of sensation found here? Stay. Give me your hand. Don’t worry. I won’t let you go.


Stream of consciousness, dramatic monologue.

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