WRITER UNCOVERS SHOCKING OBSESSION, DEDICATION
I opened the vault door, only to find 20-foot walls dedicated to me. Old newspaper articles clipped out and pasted on every brick. Pictures of me with trophies. Pictures of me with first place blue prize ribbons. Pictures of me with victory smeared all over my ugly mug.
The candles were not too far, nor too close from the pictures. Sort of my theme music echoing in the background for the flames to sway to.
Next to an old mahogany desk that sported a Mr. Belvedere night lamp, lay a pile of burnt letters with red Return To Senders stamped across the top.
How could i be so vain?
Now there were fountains. Miniature angels, mostly devils. Spewing out streams of water that splash on your skin in slow-motion. Must have been mocking me. I ran my cold, hard fingers across their cold, hard busts.
Chandeliers with daggers hung overhead. Still drifting back and forth from the cool air i let in not even three minutes ago.
And how did i get here in the first place?
What brought me to this home of The Obsessed?
Photo albums of my old school plays sat on a white, wicker chair by the glass sliding door. I was abraham lincoln or a pirate or a pilgrim.
I picked it up and i heard a raspy voice sing, almost death-like.
"I gave you everything. Sweet, sweet Richard. And that everything, you will never know."
I followed the song to the end of the rickety hall. I passed mirrors and made sure to check every one.
And there she was. In the corner. In the rocking chair. In her pity.
I dropped the photo album by my feet and the old woman i call mother shouted,
"WHO'S THERE?"