Made my second or third cup of coffee.
Randomly, or perhaps not so randomly, glance at the clock and it’s 11:11 again.
They really seem to love their special numbers, i don’t like life as a horror movie.
I heard about one guy who’s body was found with 11 cuts up one arm and 11 cuts up the other.
1111/33=33.6666666666.
Fantastic. Just ■■■■■■■ great you know.
They’re killing me. It’s crazy to because the people around don’t know im being murdered at all and actually get mad at me for acting like a guy who’s getting murdered. “Why do you have to be like that?” They say. But you can’t go “Because im being murdered.” You can’t say that. They call me negative to, what the ■■■■? Negative?! Im just one of those murdered tortured negative folks i guess, i should be more chipper.
And no one can even listen to this right now because im schizophrenic, what the hell?! You try and tell them that they have even physically harmed you twice while appearing to you but they just yell at you that you are sick, what the flying ■■■■?!
“See, you are wondering who it is again, you idiot it’s us, we have many different names on earth, we own earth. yeah people are getting advanced but not that advanced yet. People can’t do that yet.” They cut me off.
“A murderer calling me a moron, thats ■■■■■■■ rich, as rich as it gets actually.” I say.
“You want more proof or something? I thought we already proved it? People can’t do that stuff yet. What pan shows up during your torment, we were in your dreams for crying out loud and there was no mistaking that was there, and i don’t think people know so much about the brain and have the corresponding tech to cause the types of hallucinations that we have.” Cutting me off as i ponder the possibilities.
“So im a doubter. Hey you never know right?” I respond.
“Well at least you know it’s someone, thats a start anyway.” They say.
Gotta go.