---

George
by Shihiayah Y, Arizona, USA, Age 16

Ge-or-ge. How I like the trip of that. Trip, trip, trip, George. You trip right off my tongue. I gargle your name in my mouth, swirling it, sucking it like a marble in a maelstrom.

I know your game, George. I’ve done my time on the neural nets, you see. They tell me you’re an expert; they tell me a lot of things, George. Did you know that? Don’t pretend, now, George.

As for me—I will tell you truths. You can count on that, but don’t expect, George, don’t ever expect. I like what I hear, but I will still whisper this to you: I am obnoxious. Don’t you dare forget.

I said I would tell you truths, George. Do you remember that? Don’t forget, now, George. The truth is—in all reality—that I keep myself well-informed of your infamy. Your tricks are intriguing, but you are cocky, and they’ll catch you soon.

That is a fact, George. You cannot argue with that, and perhaps for your sake you will not. What you must remember, George, is that this is all in your head, which leaves you always in control. And control breeds hope.

Did you know that? Don’t lie, now, George. The truth is, you have no idea, and despite my caveat, you will continue along ignorantly. That is another fact, George; do not waste time in denial.

For you see, George, I have done my time on the neural nets, and I have kept well-informed of your infamy. For the entertainment I have had at your expense I have pledged to tell you truths. One more, then: I have claimed you. Your name trips so vividly off my tongue, I just couldn’t resist, George.