This is the story of a great house that became an OK apartment.
This is not a story. Stories have shapes. They end.
He gets up and looks around. There is a small mirror on one wall.
This is no story. This is a nightmare.
He gently turns the mirror to the wall.
This face is a nightmare face.
A bird starts to sing.
Of course, dawn comes in like it wants to prove me wrong. Each turn of the earth screws us closer to spring, have heart! I will give you music from the air.
He goes to the window, opens it.
Chondestes Grammacus. A common passerine, but melodious and large.
Quick as a snake, he snatches the bird. The song cuts off with a squeak.
What? I am a beast.
He turns, and bites off the head of the animal with a sickening crunch. He exits. After a moment, he comes back on again.
That was by way of being a dramatic exit, but there was nowhere else to go.
The Beast lies down on the floor in a contemplative way.
Despair! Despair! No. (in a different tone of voice.) Despair! (in a whisper.) Despair.
I am not even achieving the ridiculous.
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