It's confirmed. I'm a total creep.

At work we are beginning the process of eliminating all emails over 3 months old and all of our external media devices we use are being password-protected.

That said, I decided to clean up my hard drive - which I tend to use for some personal stuff. While doing this, I found a folder called "Old Papers" and the files for a portfolio I created for my final project in my "Literature of the Avant-Garde" course in college.

Strange, people. Very strange.

Apparently part of the project was to write four Avant-Garde plays of my own. I opened the file for this play called, "The End/Denouement".

Stage: The scene is set in a living room. There is one chair and the room is lit by one singular lamp. A man is seated in the chair. He’s staring off to his left, face in a relaxed hang, as though in thought.

Light flickers a bit. Almost unnoticeable.

Man: Singing. This is the end, beautiful friend, the end.

Man looks at his watch, sings again.

Man: This is the ennnnnd.

Man stops singing. Sits forward and speaks.

Man: Tell me what you see when the darkness finally ceases and tell me, do you like it?

The light goes out completely and for a moment the entire stage is dark.
A faint voice is heard, a radio broadcaster reporting traffic.

The stage is suddenly filled with white light, the chair is gone and in its place is a small boy. In one hand he holds a string, at the end of it is a green balloon, soaring above his head. In the other, a gun, pointed at the audience.

Boy: In a whisper. Bang.

Lights dim, curtains close, the radio program turns to static, then fades out.

Pretty dark for a girl who has been known to wear tutu's and dance to Def Leppard songs on the top of tables.

I mean, what a fucking freak show I am. Shit.