Once upon a time, there was a man named Max. He loved horror films. Day after day, week after week, he watched film after film. Until one day, he finally watched the wrong film.
Does this thing have Photoshop? Wait hold on, here we go:
Hello, all! I'm your guest reviewer for this evening. Well, I say "this evening," what I mean is "for the rest of poor Max's life." Which probably won't be long. I mean, I'm already decaying. I've been in his little body since he picked up that box of goodies and flipped through them.
In any case, I'm here to review. Not a movie, no sir, but a life. Specifically, Max's life. Which, I cannot stress enough, will soon be over. I mean, what kind of fellow reviews horror films on the internet? For free?
No, Max has no life, as far as I can see. He's a young man, like so many protagonists of those sweet little Horma films. You know, even I don't know where and when those things were made. Of course, I don't really care either.
Max has two parents and a sister. Now, you may be thinking "Don't kill his family, Mister Dying Man!" And I would reply, "What do you think I am, some sort of monster?" And then you might reply to my reply, "Well, yes." And I might reply to your reply of my reply, "Oh, okay," and kill you.
What was I saying? Oh right: Max's family. I've decided to leave them alone for now. Don't want anything to spoil the feeling of this moment. The moment when you finally break free of the mind and can exert your control. It smells like victory.
I'm doing him a favor, really. His room is filled with books and posters and oh my god so many movies. This isn't a life, it's an imitation of a life. What's his schedule like? Wake up, go to work, come home, watch movies, go on the internet, go to bed, start over again. The same thing, day after day. So boring.
Well, I'm not going to let life pass me by. I'm taking life by the horns and then slit life's throat and then cut off life's head and leave it in some poor soul's bed and this metaphor has really got off track hasn't it? Whatever.
Poor Max was always put off by the endings to those Horma films. "No resolution," he said. Well, my good friend, life has no resolution. It just keeps going and going until everyone dies.
I guess that's my cue. You see, poor Max won't live to see tomorrow. He's already fading. But since I learned that little trick of transferring myself into video, well, I can sort of transfer myself into other things.
Like a website. Or a blog.
I'll be spreading myself a bit thin, I know. But how often does one have the chance to infect everyone who reads something? A little bit of me in you.
See you soon.