I had enough, it had to stop. I stepped up the stairs slowly, two at a time, adamant to discover the cause of the incessant thumping. I tried to open the door to the room at the top of the stairs but it was stuck, I pushed harder and it finally began to concede. Inside I saw a girl I had never seen before, and it didn’t even occur to me that I should be wondering what she was doing in my house. She was beautiful and my mouth was parched as I rasped out a greeting. However, I was hoarse and she didn’t hear me, so I moved towards her under the pretext of making friendly conversation, but my true emotions were brothers––anger, malice and contempt. The noise––which I now saw was caused by her banging her own head against my wooden wall––simply had to stop. If she would not listen to reason, I would stop her myself. I am not a large man, my strength lies more in mind than biceps or groin, but I just cannot have such clamor in my own home where I make my living as a writer. Such noise infuses itself to my brain, an unwanted rhythm visitor to my cranium.

Standing immediately to her left I laid my argument on her, which involved all the things I have already told you in great detail. However, she continued to be totally aloof to my protests, only concerned with her bass drum skull. How eccentric this girl was, sitting cross legged in her pink flower dress and wide blue eyes. I had enough, it had to stop. Deviously I stepped between her and the wall, confident in my action. At that very moment she stopped her repeated motion, eyes wider still with a look of innocence, and in a deep booming monotone she asked me “Why?” It seemed to fit the moment––and most of my life up to that point––perfectly.

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