It starts in a place of darkness, down a slippery slope of black ice, scrambling for absent grip, praying for a way to stop the slide, unable to see above or below - or what horrible unimaginable fate happens when the slope runs out.
His fingers ache from the stress when he wakes up, the desperate clawing to no avail. Each time he asks himself: "Is this when the slope ends? Oh, God no!"
Russian roulette has never been more real.
"How can no one see me? How can no one see what's going on? I must have help! But I must hide my truth at all costs. How can I win?"
Each day he waits unredeemed, his truth becomes more horrid.
His was the last house standing in the neighborhood. He'd burned down the rest in fits of insanity. He thought himself clever making himself fire marshal coming to "rescue" his victims. As he hears the families scream in burning deaths, he gloats with smirking outrage as the hero of the day.
Of course, some people aren't happy unless they are being lied to.
But his victories are his defeat. "Please, someone - anyone - stop my madness! Intervene! Is there no crime big enough for you to detain me?"
His crimes are his plea for help. He is too weak and too helpless to do so on his own. He is scared of the sun.
He crawls naked into his his closet, begging his suits of respectability to clothe his shame and suppressed sex fantasies of dominate; a life of tortured charade.
As much as he needs his veneering suits he needs his enemies. Life would be unbearable without these illusions of love. "You must love me for I wear nice suits!" "If you don't love my suit you must be enemy of my state!"
He never met a lie he didn't like.
So desperate was his soul he cries out before the world: "There is no happiness in life, only a mirage of it on the horizon." Even this could not break the crushing silence.
Craving fame he'd chosen infamy, begging and bribing others to join his folly. Who needs to be voted a "winner" more than life's loser?
But nothing solved the riddle of escaping the Dreaded Dream's cage. He could imprison the world but still not escape his own. This thought scares him more than any other: that his path does not lead to ultimate freedom.
"I'll burn down the world if they don't stop me! You say you are so moral! Prove it!"
Then it hits him: Life is a love or death situation. And in his broken mind love is not an option.
So he fixes himself a brew of polonium tea, to equal his cruelty of the past. He notices while contemplating its ingestion the wild elation of finally being free of his godless world, causing an erection. Not one to waste a rare opportunity, he stripped down and masturbated as he drank the poison.
And that's how he was found by his traitorous aides the next morning: naked, covered in ignominy, and assassinated.
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