They have found me. After so long, they have finally discovered the truth. Paul Dawson is a murderer, plain and simple. Over the past couple of weeks, I have been feeling, well, uneasy.
As if I were being followed, but that would be too easy to say. These people. It's the way someone looks at you, bumping into you more than once, and the artificial cliché with an over observant stare. Almost obvious, they want to say what's on their mind but know that it's not time. I suppose even those trained to hide their thoughts let them slip out through their eyes once in a while. Yes, something is not right, and I fear that my time for apprehension is near.
This was inevitable, I started all of this with the ending in mind. A man came to my door yesterday and asked if I was Paul Dawson. I slammed the door in his face before he could serve me papers or whatever he intended. At that point I expected the police to bash in the door I leaned against and crush me. Would they beat me? I don't know. Will I be raped in prison? Scary thought. How much does the world know at this point? I couldn't say. Am I afraid? Sadly, no.
While leaning against the door, I pondered what the future had in store. After some time passed and the door remained intact, I realized that they may possibly be trying to catch me in the act, or maybe build up a better case. This is my window of opportunity, but I am not naive enough to believe that I will be free. I just have to make it go down like I want it to go down.
I will write more soon. Hopefully my time with the free world has not come to an end so soon, but no one knows what the future may hold. In the meantime I will keep my visibility to a minimum, activity to a manageable level, and pray that the world will not find an empty handed martyr when the time comes. It is no longer about me, nor my loves.
This was inevitable, I started all of this with the ending in mind. A man came to my door yesterday and asked if I was Paul Dawson. I slammed the door in his face before he could serve me papers or whatever he intended. At that point I expected the police to bash in the door I leaned against and crush me. Would they beat me? I don't know. Will I be raped in prison? Scary thought. How much does the world know at this point? I couldn't say. Am I afraid? Sadly, no.
While leaning against the door, I pondered what the future had in store. After some time passed and the door remained intact, I realized that they may possibly be trying to catch me in the act, or maybe build up a better case. This is my window of opportunity, but I am not naive enough to believe that I will be free. I just have to make it go down like I want it to go down.
I will write more soon. Hopefully my time with the free world has not come to an end so soon, but no one knows what the future may hold. In the meantime I will keep my visibility to a minimum, activity to a manageable level, and pray that the world will not find an empty handed martyr when the time comes. It is no longer about me, nor my loves.
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