I’ve always felt like I’m a dice roll. Like God and the Devil got into an argument one day, the Devil saying that, if put in X circumstances, for Y years, with Z inclinations and predispositions and defense mechanisms, and the inevitable fascinations and predilections those mechanisms spin off, then anybody would grow up to be some kind of serial killer. Maybe not graduating all the way to people or restaurants, but still, a systematic killer of things. For pleasure. But that day God, he argued that, even if X, Y, Z, and all their attendant mental and behavioral infections, still, there would be a chance. To do right or to not do right. To go one way or the other.
So they cooked me and my life up, to settle things.
Every day I wake up, I can feel their attention on me. Watching, waiting, each of them concentrating so hard, trying to get me to go one way or the other, each of them ready to chuckle with satisfaction.
I know the truth, though.
I’m not a test case, I’m the final product. Anything I do, it’s not my fault at all.
Welcome to Hell, gentle people.
Please allow me to introduce myself.
Stephen Graham Jones’ most recent novel is Zombie Bake-Off. His next is Growing Up Dead in Texas, then Flushboy, then Not For Nothing. And probably some more between. http://demontheory.net