All my efforts to understand were doomed from the start, I tell X. My words are corpses, cadavers! At last you talk sense, says X. All I do is kill when I should be living! I say. This scribbling I do, this tapping, it’s like a kind of grieving for what I’m killing. No you lost me there, he says. You were right the first time, you’re doomed, we both are, they got us and your scribbling is nothing, literally nothing, just something they let you do until they can be bothered to come for us. It’s about time you faced the facts. Right now they’re probably on their lunch break, he says, or sitting at their CCTV screens laughing at us, or shaking their heads wondering why they’re wasting their time with us. If they’re even there, he says, there’s probably not even anyone there, that would be the biggest joke of all, he says.


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