WEDNESDAY, JULY 29th, 2020
 "is it real?" my little cousin asked me, sitting across the bed to face me, while i waved a pistol in its pretty face. (g26, subcompact, ugly little thing. female, summer 10', very short, blonde?) "are you scared?" it obviously was. i thought very long and hard about how i would pick out the brain pieces from the carpet. tweezers? probably, but so much work. vacuuming would be a fucking mess. maybe sprinkling flour then vacuuming so its not sticky, i'd have to google that though. i never worried about the sheets. marseille soap man, if you're quick enough it does wonders. (foreigners are funny. "ughhh blood stained now i have to throw this away" god you are all so stupid.) i watched it grow for the years to follow, my vision of how snugly and prettily it would fit in my closet deteriorating more and more every few months, heaven slipping away from my grip very slowly as i stood helpless. it was torture.
 i remember the exact day when i decided to start using physical violence to get what i want. i started visualising people's faces on target sheets, i started printing out people's faces onto target sheets, the epiphany of how easy it was to hold a gun against someone's head and watch them fucking crumble under you. life was suddenly a thousand times easier as i thought about how i will never have to deal with scum again, why talk when i can order and threaten and receive?