Jac laughed out loud. Who are these fools? Who the fuck are these fools? AllTheNewsYouNeed ran an editorial on Jac’s books.
Maybe it’s time for me to start launching a few things myself, like lawsuits against these people. On the other hand, this might be a great test of my security.
He went to his email and scanned the subject lines.
Oh, A. Fan…what insights do you have for today?
He opened the email with the subject line: Following You Always.
Sure you are. Maybe in a hundred years, and by then, I’ll be even harder to find.
“So…let’s see if Mr. MacDonald has anything to say about me.” A few clicks and he was looking at The Word and Its Many Meanings. He smiled as he read. “So now I’m the target of a mass worldwide effort to be shut down forever. Jax, you’re fucking crazy. Let’s see what I can do to make you even crazier.” He scrolled down to the comments section.
Take that, you little clown.
He closed his browser and opened the manuscript for his new novel—all one title of it. Images of clowns exploding into balls of fire and steam hissing from eyeballs bunched up in his mind. He stared at the top of the document. Circus of No Hope. For Jac it summed up the human condition so succinctly. All you had to do was turn on a television, open a news site or go into any social media group and there is was—the world was one big circus with one overwhelming theme: There is no hope. The human race was on a crazy roller coaster ride diving and flying on a oneway course into oblivion and nobody seemed to want to get off or stop the wagons. And through all this there was the pain of life, the sorrow and loss of every day, the struggle to rise above it all just to find you’ve risen to the bottom and it starts all over again. And again.
He stared at the title and he felt good about what he was doing. He was telling the truth. He was giving the world a much needed dose of itself, showing them all who and what they were and where they were going: Nowhere. At least, nowhere good. Everywhere was pain. Everywhere was loss and regret. Fireballs with the bewildered eyes of children bounced off the walls of his imagination. Horses with blazing manes trampled entire families into smoldering cinders.
A ten year old boy cut his pet dog’s throat and then slit his wrists.
It was dark outside. He gazed into the emptiness of the space under the title. It was time to set the stage for nightmares, it was time to sleep.