1 April

Mud has pulled me through the case of resurrection. At the crossroads (Main Street and Silver Junction Avenue) we were torn to shreds by guilt. A feverish red appeared in her visage; the mill stopped spinning. We craved a certain childish joy, yet felt what could be classified as a Blue Charlatan Numbness.

I discharged her and we went our separate ways. She took Main Street, was never seen again, I chose Silver Junction. Our ways were merry, unless something did happen, but that’s how it is with me. I don’t remember and even when staring the thing blankly in the face, I’m not sure whether I’m really doing just that.