Changing Minds: 

Gossvergal was a poet, a terrible and nervous man. He had vices that were perverse, he hid feelings behind walls of roaches. He kept a few small creatures as pets that he intentionally neglected. He liked the idea of their soft hair turning coarse from malnutrition. He was also a masochist. He loved a good couple days of fever or intestinal destruction.  He occasionally showered just to have that day or two to be completely filthy and greasy, he was a man of contrast and cruelty. 

Gossvergal didn’t write good poetry, he worked for Hallmark and could fake enough sappy insincerity to get consistent work. He found it to be a horrible job, which in his own way he loved. He had parents and sisters and a brother that all had normal lives and tried their best to avoid Gossvergal. In fact everyone that knew Gossvergal wanted to stay away from him. If it wasn’t for the small creatures that he kept, (simply to abuse) he wouldn’t have anyone.   

He thought of himself as a wrong wired person that should have been killed before he grew up and inflicted his disgusting perception on the world. He thoroughly indulged in the flavor of self-harm and inky fantasies about all sorts of immoral and revolting ideas.  This was certainly not the kind of mind you would want to look into searching for a hidden linchpin to make him all better. Going inside a head like this would infect you too. 

Gossvergal was a sucker for mysteries, he could be led around with clues very easily. This indulgence was exactly what led his fate to the mouth of a larger predator. There are people that watch others, there are reasons that paranoid people are occasionally correct, and there are people or “nobodies” that hide plainly in the background watching others.  

Gossvergal had the suspicion that someone was watching him when he discovered a bloody safety pin. A little dried blood was a clue, a clue that someone for some reason had suffered. Someone had been pricked, poked or otherwise stabbed with this safety pin. The imagination cause Gossvergal some lovely dreams and a thirst for more.  

A day or two after the pin he found an old picture with nothing on the back. A picture of some older folks when they were young, a mystery like this kept him satisfied, wondering what kind of debilitating health problems they suffered from now. A true consumer of pain in every flavor.  

One by one, new mysteries dragged him around, he found himself moving 2-3 times in the first year. He had never enjoyed moving or too much change.  The predator never revealed themselves and always knew exactly when the mystery was about to wear off. Precise timing, perfect infection, this predator was a professional.   

Gossvergal developed a paranoia in sharp contrast to his bread crumbs of indulgence.  He knew he was being led around, he was convinced this predator was out to kill him, to bring some cosmic hammer of justice down upon him for being born. The jig was up, law and order were behind every corner waiting to catch him in the act of indulging his infectious imagination. 

He suffered this paranoia his whole life, the hammer was never brought down, he was overwhelmed with paranoia until his last breath. He had only infected by himself, left himself clues and enjoyed his own suffering.  

His last breath was released on a sunny day on the 4^th of July during a fireworks show. His imagination hooked on the blinding explosions and noise. It hooked on them and poured the idea that the whole universe was the predator out to bring the hammer down. He finally convinced himself that life was a sickening and degenerate place because it allowed such a perverse creature such as himself for so long. 

He died under the greatest delusion, that his life had some sort of importance. May he rest in peace.