Dear Reader, I wish I could tell you that you're going to survive this,

But I cannot. There are two of you, after all, with whom death must confer.

The you that has grown from a dribbling child to the damned adult, and the you that was born of mistreatment and neglect.

You're two equal halves. Who is awarded competency, when you are both undeniably real, and the same form of fucked?

It is like having an ornery twin- they do something awful and you must amend for it, simply because you share the same coat.

You may survive. If you can live with the scratching cat with sharpened claws battering at the door of your consciousness.

Or perhaps the world will take pity, and run you down with a school bus.

Who knows, after all I am just another shade of you.

Dear Reader,

I wish I could tell you that you're going to survive this but to be honest no one has before. I wrote this to give you at least a chance of success no matter how miniscule.

First of all don't eat the purple berries, yes I know they are tempting especially after your supplies inevitably run out. Take it from someone who knows. They are delicious and you think safe because you'll see animals eating them but you'll be wrong. The animals have adapted to them, our kind, not so much. They caused our first fatalities. I won't go into details but they died writhing in pain, it wasn't pleasant.

Second warning is the trees, at some point due to the excessive damp you'll get the idea to sleep among the branches above. This works but only with certain conditions which we discovered the third night we tried it. Avoid any fruiting trees at all cost they attract the insects, not the ones you screech and brush off your clothes. These miniscule monsters will burrow under your skin and although not fatal initially they are torturous. Especially when their eggs hatch three nights later and the larva start chewing their way out. In the end what killed them was actually infection as the exit wounds refused to heal despite all our efforts.

I don't have much time left so I'll leave you with this final piece of advice. Stay away from the river. There's something there, something I haven't seen but have heard stalking us almost from the start. Eyes I have felt watching me since I stepped foot in this cursed place.

I'm the only one left now so I'm pretty sure tonight is my end. You've done well to get this far alive and I hope you can make it through this nightmare. If so as a last request, in exchange for my advice. Please tell our families that we perished quickly in an accident, don't give them the details of our gruesome fates. Thank you and good luck, you'll need it.

I read the letter taken from the corpse's hand and my blood went cold. The body was alone in the cave but what really made me shiver was seeing the evidence of the fatal blow. Obviously not self-inflicted since the blade itself was gone as was the heart.

Dear Reader,

I wish I could tell you that you're going to survive this, but, that would just be polite, kind even, and though I am frequently polite, I am rarely kind. Would I have lured you to my lovely lair, enticing you with words you longed to hear, caressing your fragile ego, filling your already cluttered mind with vague promises you construed as you wished to believe what you would, just to set you free willy nilly? Decidedly not, dear Reader. Look around. Would I have led you oh so gracefully to this widowless room, locking the door gently behind you (Did you drop the letter to check the door, or let it dangle, forgotten, from your hand, numb with shock or, shall I say it?, fear?) Would I have left you here awaiting what fate has in store, to dwell upon what must to you be my loathsome decor, of blood spattered walls and floor, if you had even an infinitesimal hope of seeing the dawn?

Did you drop the letter to run screaming to the door, banging your fists till they bled? Or did you simply sink to the floor a huddled heap, to weep?

However you react, know that I am licking my lips in acute anticipation. I am the spider, you are the fly.

Tonight, you die.

Listen closely, dear Reader, in the stillness of the night. As the shadows draw closer, press in, the game will begin when on an impossible wind near your ear, you'll hear my voice as I whisper your name.

Till soon...

real true honest consuming loneliness

is like a migraine that comes and goes

in the absence of it i forget it entirely

i can't remember how cold it feels

to be surrounded completely by warmth

i feel temperate and protected and alive

until it eases back in like a warning

the first symptom of sickness, a sore throat

a cough, a runny nose, shortness of breath

it lies with me in bed while i tell it to go

to leave me alone, that i'm done with it

but it stays because it's afraid i'm lonely

my solitude hates to leave my alone

and brings it's party of other companions

i knew they were coming and said please no

but here they are, more reliable than i am

it starts with the loneliness, a sore throat

it brings the cold and morbidity of winter

a real true honest consuming loneliness

is sometimes all you can count on