Trespassers Will Be Persecuted

You shouldn’t have come here. Really, it was a bad idea out of the gate, but you’re here, so come on. In for a penny, in for a pound. Watch your head under that low beam. Eavesdropping is one thing, but this is pure spying. The things you will witness in this place you’ve trespassed into are none of your business. You’re violating me by the simple act of being present. Don’t expect to be forgiven or shown any mercy whatsoever. You forfeited your right to those when you took it upon yourself to pick through my private thoughts.

Get your ass back over here. You don’t really think that a successful gate crash gives you carte blanche to wander around unsupervised, do you? As fucking if. I’ll physically tether myself to you if necessary. And stop trying to pull me over into that back corner. None of this is for you, but that over there is expressly forbidden. Let me make it plain for you—go nosing around over there, and you don’t get out alive. I’ll put you on Dante’s merry-go-round if you take one more step in that direction. Capisce?

Okay, smartass. Pull up a piece of oyster bed and cop a squat in the salt marsh of my mind. No, you don’t get a chair. And you don’t get to look away. No, you can’t borrow any bug spray. I hope the mosquitoes eat you alive.

That’s Shannon, the bleached blonde trussed up in two-pound test. I particularly like the way it cuts into her flesh. Here, take this sheet of copy paper and give her a few paper cuts. Make the first one on her lower lip. I know, there isn’t much lip to work with, but you aren’t required to stay in the lines. Another one, right there in the crotch of her arm, a couple on her neck. Don’t worry, I have a knife, too.

You’re beginning to look like it’s dawning on you, what a bad idea it was coming here uninvited. I’m not cleaning up for you. What, you don’t like torturing a defenseless person? Oh, that’s rich. Like I have any choice about your continued presence here, like it isn’t torture for me that you’re here. Fine, just leave her there. I’ll come back later with the fire ants and honey, the scorpion and the speculum. I see that you’re too delicate to witness the physical evidence of the repercussions of your actions. Fine. Pussy.

Come on, you clearly need a palate cleanser. Let’s check out something else you shouldn’t see. Look, it’s your mom and dad getting down and dirty. What, you don’t want to see this? Your mom and dad locked into a 69, enjoying each other’s bodies? Then maybe you shouldn’t watch. You certainly shouldn’t expect them to stop being sexual beings just because you, a product of their sexuality, are somewhere you shouldn’t be, looking at things you shouldn’t see. That’s on you, not them.

Whatever. You’re here of your own accord. You could stop reading at any point, but you keep moving forward, like you have some right to be here. You don’t.

Next exhibit. Look, it’s you, naked. Oh, you thought you’d get to snoop around and see things you want to see. You still think you’re in control. Maybe I’ll invite my friends in to see you at your worst. Maybe I’ll invite the whole world in since you clearly haven’t found that thrill you seek.

I know, it was fun to disregard the no trespassing signs. You should have read more carefully: you won’t be prosecuted; you’ll be persecuted. And there’s no such thing as no harm, no foul. Even if there were, we’d be well past that now.

Come on, show’s not over. No, I’m not giving your clothes back to you. You don’t get to cover yourself in here. My mind, my rules. Remember, I’m the only authority in this room. If you want to get past that trip wire, you’ll need to belly-crawl under it.

That’s what I thought. You’ll need to be quiet over here. Tiptoe, goddamnit. You’re calling way too much attention to yourself, and if the others hear you . . . well, they’re not as forgiving as I am. Oh, stop. Nobody’s buying your victim act in here. There’s blood in your veins, and you’re still reading. These courts never acquit because everyone is guilty. Think of your guilt as your birthright and drop the innocent routine. You know what’s in that corner. You’ve always known.

Do the things you see in me make you uncomfortable? Go ahead, climb that sand dune; I know you think it’s moral high ground. But first, take a closer look at that frame—it’s enclosing a mirror, not a window. Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge in a place that’s not for you.

Now get your naked ass out of here and worry about what’s in your own dark corner. You have no right to judge the contents of mine.