The Third Tumour

It was June I think when I came back. He would definitely know with all calendars he keeps. You'd think he was trying to get pregnant the way he obsesses about time. Time is not on his side...'yes it is' no it isn't. 'Karl Moseley' has a brain tumour, his third...and that's me, here I am, 'his tumour' and this time I am going to do the talking. I will start with a frank admission that I am a nasty bastard, sitting at the top of the stairs, skulking around in that place that I call home beneath the parietal bone. You see that's where I have taken up residency, in the place that affects the reading and the writing - the words. And we know how much he loves the words. It must have come as a big surprise to him, five years without me but mind you this war's been going on for seventeen in all. It's shocking I know but he has been a lucky chappy to get this far. Anyway it's great to be back with our Karl, to feel all his ups and downs and his highs and lows; here's a secret, a little revelation, he's ate four mince pies today! That's really careless and unhealthy, he's looking for an heart attack just to spite me! Karl Moseley can be nasty can be too. But apart from his spitefulness and his stubbornness, I can still second guess what the guy's gonna do next. He'll keep on reading all that meaningless existential rubbish that he reads and listening to all that depressing grey music that he loves. That's what he'll do. But no, he's having strange thoughts when he should be crying and wallowing in self pity,he wants to go shopping, he wants to go to Asda. What a bastard.