To the hotel cleaner,

I had gotten tired of staring at this blank screen. I’d started seeing little colorful squiggles under my eyes. I’ve got to stop rubbing my eyes. My eyes are burning now. I would sell my soul to write something steller. As a kid, I dreamed of writing a bestseller, but I’m dead broke. My hands were cramping up. I wished I could just fucking write something instead of always deleting starting from scratch.

At one point, I was sitting in a puddle of my own pee. I fear the minute that I leave this chair I will have a breakthrough.

I wished the people next door would shut the hell up. I swear those two are either fighting or fucking. It was annoying and sad. I haven’t even gotten laid since last Christmas. It wasn’t even good sex. The jerk insisted on fucking my ass. I hate anal but, it had been a long time then, too. In a moment, I was so tired of staring at my screen. I had no life anymore, just writing, eating, drinking rum until I fall asleep. In what I can only call a moment of desperation. I cut my arm and draw a pentagram in the blood. I sold my soul. I mean, I must have. I don’t remember the transaction. No one else seemed to notice the sudden change either.

The next day, I woke up, and Stephen King was on Twitter talking about my bestselling horror novel about a starving artist who sold their soul to the devil. My ramen noodles collection was still there, as were my old beat-up tennis shoes, and my stained blue jeans. But of course, everyone in the magazines simply refers to me as “quirky.” I was just an average person, and that was part of my public appeal. I have a BMW in cherry red another in black. Countless beautiful women and smoking hot men are offering to do very unmentionable things with me every night. I have more money than I know what to do with it.

You want to know the fucked-up part? I can’t feel anything. I can enjoy my ill-gotten fame. And when I finally put that gun to my head and pull the trigger, I will feel no sadness. I’m sorry in advance to the poor soul who has to clean up the blood and brains. Maybe I should’ve left money for counseling?