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The Demon's Passage Greg Egan Somebody out there, show your compassion, come and kill me. Cut me free and watch me slowly shrivel, or slice me up and flush me down a toilet. Any way you like, I don't mind. Come on! You do it for your youngest children, you do it for your sick old parents. Come and do it for me. I can tell you'd like it. Don't be nervous, lovers! You'll never be found out, if that's what's holding you back: I'll stay silent to the end, be it swift or slow. Come on, people! I'm totally defenceless. Hurry up! Don't be shy. You have the right. You made me, you created me, so you know you have the right. Who am I? What am I, that can whisper pleas for death into your clean and honest minds? I could give you twenty questions, but I fear that you'd need more. Animal, for sure. Smaller than a bread-box now, but growing every day. Two legs? Four legs? Six? Eight? I have no limbs, I have no face; no fangs, no claws, you musn't fear me. I am the stuff of thought (pure and impure), and what could be more harmless than that? Practicalities: you'll need my address. Can you hear me in the back rows? Are you reading me, Brazil? I can certainly hear all of you |
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