What was I to say to him?
Should I answer that a stare has gone through and through and left for good? Or should I instead be truthful and assume the guilt of inspiration? I must scream his name, I think, for I know him well! May I speak to you for a second, Sir? May I ask just another silly overrated question about that pen I just relentlessly dropped on the carpet?
Oh, why does he just go and keeps on going forever? I wish he would stop, oh I wish he would just paused for a second in its dream of reality! Can you just please give me one second of peace, let me think for a minute and actually make reason of everything that is going through my mind! It is exhausting I tell you.
The fella in the red striped coat always ends up asleep though, which helps my case. He fights and fights, sometimes until dawn breaks the skies and floods the day. But he always ends up asleep.
Not to worry, there is the certainty of him appearing again tomorrow and the next day, and the next. Or so I hope, at least.
(original em "The Prologue to Cynicism," sob pseudónimo)