For real?

I’m super intelligent, with a freaky I.Q, but I have a gambling problem. Over the years I have incurred a lot of debt. And even if I’m so smart to pay off any conceivable debt, I find myself stranded most times and at the mercy of loan sharks. But not today.

I’m in my brother’s office on the 20th floor. His secretary walks in.

“Sir, there are people here to see you.”

‘Something’s fishy,’ I think instantly. People here to see him, “people”?

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I used to think of words. I used to think of how invaluable they were in expressing emotions like pain, joy, sadness, boredom, you know, usually the bad stuff. I used to have an unparalleled faith in my uncanny ability to wield the craft the way I saw fit. But now, words have left me out to dry, now I search for them in the skies, and walls, and road tars, and even on people’s defeated faces. These sylphlike symbols I used to beat around at will have now ganged up against me, they are making me beg and clamber for their insight. They that were once my best friends have now turned to kindred nightmares. They’ve turned master to slave, writer to clown, thinker to coward, and in so doing they’ve released the monster. I’m going to make these symbols suffer, all of them, they will feel what I feel a hundredfold:

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