- Anne Sexton, (For John, Who Begs Me Not to Enquire Further)
For those who insist upon the reception of my reluctant and socially-suicidal answers, I can bring myself to deny the opportunity for a satisfying kill. I would not lay myself down on the chopping block for pure entertainment. I would not throw myself in front of an oncoming train for the show. That is the job of harlequin circus-folk, not me.
I would beg of you not to make me emerge from the shadowed utopia in which I dwell, but I doubt if that would do much good at all. Asking nicely has never paid off too much for those who are determined to die, with a 9-mil at the nape of their pleading necks. It wouldn't be fair to consider it a way out or an emergency exit. Fairness has never really been a part of the game.
So I will sit, left to eternally spy upon the beautiful people below, who by this point look near as ants from my mountain pedestal. I will watch as they hurry around, never stopping or wondering from whence the strong east wind blows about their crumbs. They will just scramble about to regather their scraps and proceed on with their autonomic lives, each consumed in his own.
Maybe I will never know how or why the way thing are came to be. Perhaps I will never look upon the face of the Creator upon whom every creature depends for a yearly rain. Maybe I do not know or see anything at all, just a mirage created within my mind of things that I wish were there.