The world was going to a narcissistic end, everybody were faking a beautiful life on social media, the greed for exposure became so overwhelming that people forgot how to actually live a life that would not necessarily fit into a picture frame. Everyone was online, economy was slowly dying off and a beautiful lie of an existence was surrounding us. Government obviously got involved, the new policy of Truth About All took place, and initially the idea was to get rid of all the entertainment social media. In a way the society was relieved by the fact that you no longer have a platform where you have to impose a certain life and somehow the ruling power got the vibe and decided to explore the principle of absolute truth. In the flagrant of all that we somewhat agreed that having a kill count on top of our heads is a great idea. Absolute Truth was taking over all areas of life and in some fields there were wonderful changes, but writing a novel became almost impossible. The writing field was in such a strict control that all fantasy writings were completely forbidden for publication and if found destroyed within a heartbeat only hard facts are allowed, television was all about documentaries and visual art had guidelines. Some people continued to write just like I did, I had a sealed domain that was just my creative space and I was hoping that one day the obsession with blunt reality will fade and I will be able to show my words to the public once again and have an actual open creative conversation with someone that is not only focused on facts. My internet mecca held my best works and my evolution as a writer for the past two and a half decades. I am an Agatha Christie girl, she fascinated me since I was a teenager and her books influenced me since. I also write criminal novels while it was still allowed, now I reduced my creative exercises mainly to murder stories and since that’s the only thing that keeps me going I have 943...and 6 finished books in that space, with 2 novels ongoing. Despite the fact that malefactor puzzles are something that calls to me, I’m a proud owner of 0 murders on my count, I am also a vegetarian and cherish all lives. On a Sunday morning I was doing my usual routine, shower which I like hot and steamy and as soon as that is done a tall glass of water before oatmeal that I love with maple syrup. I returned back to the bathroom I felt and odd click and then again, and again, the clicking turned into a rhythmic melody I knew it was happening inside me like cracking the flange bones but it was not my hand or toes but it was a similar yet new feeling; my first reaction was to look at my hands but nothing, suddenly the though of killer count came to mind. I started wiping the mirror with my shaking hands, the number was at 622 and growing, within a matter of minutes I was at 951 and the strange tick stopped. I managed to murder 951 people while eating my oatmeal, my count must be faulty, it has to! On shaky legs I moved towards the living room, sat down and started running thru my head how on earth did I cause such a catastrophe, 951...951! I knew that a number this high will trigger the police and they will be at my doorstep soon; first thought went to change from the bath rope, pack my bags and ride into the sunset, but I knew that a life on the run is not for me, so I decided to go for the first thing that came to my mind and wear some clothes. While I was pulling my sweater on there was a loud knock on my door, I knew it was the police. I’ve never been so scared and confused at the same time in my entire life, I went to open the door. The policeman saw the number on my count and I noticed something I was not expecting, he was scared as well, there were a few more, I would say 5 policeman, everything that is happening is such a blur I think my own brain was denying this reality, I somehow agreed to go in for questioning but what they asked me, I’m again unsure. I am mumbling ”It must be faulty, there should be a mistake, it just simply can’t be” and the fact of one previous case of a count with failure was growing in my heart giving me hope that mine is probably also messed up. I was really bad at expressing myself, my own voice sounded strange, like it wasn’t coming from me, I was having the odd monologue up until we reached the station, and once I was placed in a interview room I felt so tired, incredibly fatigued, somehow, of everything, not just physically but also emotionally, living with the count, not able to be your true self, in a rigid universe of only truth with counts and numbers and facts and constant greyness. The detective entered the room with a tablet in his hand and placed it in front of me. He asked me in a very calm voice if I’m familiar with what I’m looking at; it took me a couple of seconds to focus on what I was staring at, and then a big smile brightens my face, it was my stories and books and essays, everything I stored in my cyber sanctuary. I looked up at the detective and said in a soft and finally articulate way that yes I am familiar with what he gave me. He asked me if those are diaries of actual kills, since it's written from a murderer’s perspective I understood how that can be confusing; this is when it hit me, if I say yes, I'll be sentenced to death penalty within a week and everything I wrote will be available for public or I say that it's my imagination and it gets deleted, my count goes back to zero but I'll be under strict supervision for not obeying the rules and probably assigned to do some shit job till the rest of my life where each of my move gets monitored. Here I am, waiting to be executed after 7 months of prison time with 4 more books finished and 17 more murder stories. I am extremely grateful for the extra time I was given because of the popularity I've gained, I became the pioneer of ”Artists suicide movement”. I do not have a hint of regret!