I'm at Cork Airport. I look perfectly normal; a young college-age man dispensing with academics and getting ready to backpack across the world. After I finish this post, I'll be boarding my plane for my round the world trip. Or so I'll tell anyone who asks. Luckily, I'm a good actor.
Last night, I had a dream. I heard things but I can't remember who whispered them. Either way, I knew they were true. God moves in mysterious ways and he made a move last night. I am his judgement on Royal Richardson.
I waited near his home and followed him when he left to go to the theatre, no doubt intent on continuing his preparations for whatever sick plan he had for us all. Nothing I could find about the play indicated its purpose but he wasn't putting it on for shits and giggles.
When I arrived, I entered silently as I had last time and listened for the creak of floorboards. They were coming from above so, as silently as I could, I ascended and eventually found Royal looking over all from a balcony. He didn't even hear me coming. All I had to do was reach out with my left hand...
His fall was not graceful. He screamed and flailed and landed flat on his back with a tremendous crash as he smashed through the wood floor. I'd miscalculated though. I heard the sounds of people coming from outside. More drug dealers, probably. Luckily, I'm not a monster like Royal, so I opted to sneak out rather than add another body to the legacy of that rundown old theatre. I don't take pleasure from killing.
Now, I'm waiting. I'm heading for America. It seems like an easy place to get lost and I don't have to worry about learning the language. I'm almost excited, somewhere deep down. It will be a learning experience. I can see where she came from. I can, maybe, survive.
The monster is here. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say he looks pleased.