Remember Why You Fear Me Read Online Free PDF

writing on toilet paper because the paper’s so thin it breaks. And you can put some sheets together to make it thicker but that’s not much better and you have to write so slowly to keep it from breaking that by the time you reach the end of the sentence you forgot how it started and you forget what it was you wanted to say anyway, and anyway you get through a lot of paper like that. XXXXXXXX He caught me, I knew he would, he’s smart like that, I was taking so long in the bathroom that he began to bang on the door asking if I was all right and I said I was all right, and I flushed, but he said if I didn’t open the door he’d break it down and so I did. I should have flushed away my writing first while I was at it but I just didn’t have time to think and he picked it up and he read it and I thought he’d get angry because a lot of it was about him, well all of it really. But XXXXXXXX he didn’t say anything bad and he said if I wanted to write he’d get me some proper paper if it meant that much to me. And a pencil too, not a sharp one, he’d seen a film once about how a sharp pencil could be used as a weapon and stuck into someone’s neck and that was funny because I think I’ve seen that film too but I couldn’t remember what it was called, neither of us could, we laughed about that. And I told him I’d never do that to myself, I’m scared of blood, and he looked a bit shifty and said he’d been more worried I’d do it to him actually, and I hadn’t even thought of that and said I wouldn’t, we laughed about that. So XXXXXXXX he gave me this pad and this pencil. And told me I could copy out what I’d written on the toilet paper if I liked. But I didn’t want to, he’d been so nice about the whole thing and what I’d said on the toilet paper wasn’t very kind. I didn’t want to write anything for a while, I didn’t know what to say anymore, and he’d ask me sometimes about it over dinner, have you started writing yet, but he said it nicely, it wasn’t a nag and didn’t come out sarky. And so eventually I thought I’d better write something after he’d gone to all that trouble, and so I did, and this is it.

    Over breakfast he read what I wrote last night. He said it was very good, but that some of the grammar needed a little work, that it wasn’t always easy to read, and I asked about my handwriting, and he said that was good, and about my spelling, and he said that was good too, it was just the grammar, I could do with a few more full stops. So I’m going to do that. When I remember. I’ll try. He said he’d have to change just one thing, and he crossed out a few words with a pen, and handed it back. And he’d crossed out all the times I’d used his name, he’d put ‘he’ instead, he said that he should never have let me know his name in the first place that was a mistake. So I could carry on writing, but no more names. And I said could I use another name instead, it’d get a bit much calling him ‘he’ all the time, and he said that was all right. And George told me that he was glad I enjoyed the pad and the pencil, that they’d been a present. And that I’d get more presents, so long as I behaved, so long as I did what I was told. I told George I would and he was so pleased. He asked what I was going to write next and I couldn’t think what, and he said I should write about what I know. But I don’t want to write about my life before, if you’re reading this you probably know it already, it’s probably not much different from yours. So I’m going to describe where I am. I don’t like descriptive bits, I’d rather tell stories, but here goes. There are three rooms. (Actually there are more than three rooms, but I only get to go in three of them. There’s the kitchen, but I’m not allowed in there because it’s full of sharp things, George keeps it locked with the bolt he took from the bathroom. And there’s the room which has the front door in it, I don’t go