George
by
Shi 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.
