Cornelius Harker: Sentence Slayer

   They scream, they cry, they bleed inky blackness from their wounds.  All around me are the fallen, the once hopeful band of warrior words that strolled across plains of page and punctuation with mettle and cheer.  They imagined themselves as saviours, as deliverers of description; they once thought as all words think, that they alone are the product of genius, the footnote to reflection and the messengers of mind and soul.  They mocked me, they chided, they sauntered about the pages of 'Sirrenvaag' as though they themselves had fashioned its eerie milieu.  They were obviously too big for their boots, so I've taught them a lesson. I edited, hacked and slashed until they whimpered and apologised.  They even got together and baked me a cake, which was nice... not enough icing, though. 

   I'm now taking a break for a week; I'm off on holiday!  At least the words will be left in peace for a short time.  Upon my return, however, there will be fury, there will be chaos; the heavens will split and then, well, I'll probably just edit some more.

   I shall return, ladies and gentlemen.