“I hope this thing is on. I still don’t know how to work it properly.” *THUMP THUMPTHUMP THU-THUMPTHUMP* *BREATHING INTO THE MICROPHONE* “Here we go… Some would say what I did was wrong. I don’t care. It was what I had to do. It needed to be done. Things never work out like the story in a book or the plot of a movie. Happy endings aren’t real. Even if they were you could never tell if they were the end. Most tales end with the hero getting his revenge or his prize at the end. Not this one. This is a story of pure non-fiction. This is real. The following are extracts from my journal which I will read…

At about the age of ten, I saw him once but not again. The man who came from out of town, The man who wore the blood-soaked crown. It was the night of Friday eve, Which from my bed I did not leave. Out my window I stole a glance, And saw him there just by chance. He was tall and thin and made of dark, His mere presence made dogs bark. For from his shape he whistled high, A tune so eerie I can’t deny. He slinked and stepped along the street, The sound of sloshing at his feet. A trail of crimson lay behind, His next victim he was to find. He grabbed a blade and on his…