There was a crooked girl, who lived in a crooked house. Her parents made her do crooked things, until she was old enough to go outside and do those crooked things herself. She could have been anything once she was old enough to be free of them. She could have straightened out, no longer been crooked.
What’s the fun in that?
My name is Sage Parker. It’s all you’ll get from me regardless of whatever the truth is. I learned a long time ago that the truth is never as interesting as the lies you make to cover it up.
When I was a kid, my father liked to take me to the carnival. I was a scrawny little thing then, all wild hair and big eyes. It was easy to pickpocket wallets from unsuspecting parents trying to hold on to their children’s hands. I could not have cared any less about the rides, or the games,and their fuzzy stuffed animal prizes that fell apart on the ride home. I didn’t think about those candy apples, dipped in a red too vivid to be natural, a color that hurt your teeth long before you got around to taking a bite.
What I had loved was the lights when the fiat got dark. Garish and bright in neons, I loved how they looked against the darkness beyond. I liked how they drowned out the stars.
There are no lights now, of course. I can’t see anything.
You see, I died.
I’m dead, and it’s all the fault of the Midnight Show.