Stealth Survivor

Just to continue from Chloe’s Newspaper. I grabbed something special in my life and I never let it go. I held it fast. I never relinquished it. It was one of the only good moments in my life. And the benefits are bountiful.

There was an evil man in my flat at the time. Chief perp like, you know. He advertised himself as a, get this, “Great Grandmaster Mason.” That’s the tiptop of evildoing, in the uppermost echelons of power. There are 33 degrees of Evil in this world. One of them is being viciously violent. One of them is blowing an airliner up. The list goes on. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to extol Chloe.

So he was in my flat with me, scaring me to bollocks. A master of stealth. I was catatonic (the only time he ever appears), and very vulnerable. He danced around me in my own flat. On his phone, he had a software program about my head movement. When you know what direction the target is looking at, and you have them drugged to within an inch of unconsciousness, it is very easy to creep up on them. Even within their own living quarters. He is so skilled at stealth that he can catch magpies. What chance did I have, in a masturbatory psychosis? Sooo scary.

With this charming geezer around, I had to dig deep for hope. I came up with Chloe. He followed me to the park, so I made her appear in my mind’s eye. She’s the most beautiful child in all of God’s Green Earth. Dakota Fanning is a close second. She wears a Victorian school costume, black and white, all super-cute and uber-pretty and stuff. I found her, in my communal hallway, reading a paper together, and I recreated her, years later, in peril, invaded by an evil stealth man who was breaking and entering into my apartment while I was present.

She was so comforting. Just the presence of a gorgeous little girl chilled my nerves. I gave her some power instantly. I gave her two whopping hyenas on leads. But it’s not about power. She doesn’t need any of that. It’s about the company. About a year ago she started talking to me. We have a thing about Reese’s Pieces. She pronounces it rather strangely. So, several mornings a week, or when I need it, I break a peanut butter cup and share communion with Chloe. I pray to her for protection, from the angel cast by the Most High that she is.

She appeared in Wetherspoons, after that f**king creature popped up underneath my bed. Her head was so small and delightfully adorable. I could have eaten her up like a butter cup herself. She was making shapes in the shape-shifting realm, becoming a pink Bugatti car and stuff. In my Heaven, I’m going to ride with Chloe in a pink Bugatti (convertible). That’s my dream. It gives me life. I hope for a better future after the revolving door of this mortal coil is over.