Prompt #1: Answer the question: "Who are you?"
Answer.. answer.. answer.. Shut up! Orders, for me? Just who do you think you are? Answer.. Answer yourself! Shut up shut up and let me think for myself! Shut up, shut up shut up, I’m sick of hearing you, every last one of you, sick of you! I can do this, I can shut you out, finish this shit, and if you don’t stop pushing in here you’ll be fucking sorry. I can push back, push back, push back and then you will answer me! Shut up, shut up, fuck this was a mistake. Therapy. THERAPY. Note to self: kill Crawford for this. Wonder if he’s seen it coming. Is this a school or a lunatic asylum? I am I am I am I am. I am, I’m me, and you can’t change me or break me or push me out. I am I am I am, I win, I have shut you all right the fuck out and right the fuck up. I am, I am I am.
Answer the question? I’m going to push you out and shove you down and you’ll say what I tell you! You’ll answer me!
I am I am I am I am I am I am I am. I am.
That’s who I am. Mastermind. You think I got that name by sitting on my ass and letting any old asshole in a cheap “friendly” sweater tell me to spread my brains out on a page? Fuck no. I can push you out and stuff you down and make you whomever I want, make you do whatever I want. Make you answer me, make you spread your brains on the wall.
That’s what I can do.
How about that? There’s your answer-me answer-me answer.
Stupid fucking therapy. Stupid fucking therapist. I’m going to kill him.. no, I’m going to push until he kills himself, then I’m going to take this fucking answer book and push it so far up.. Now there’s an idea. Who am I, I’m all better, the end.
Schuldig fills the remainder of the page with scribbled, sloppy cartoon images of himself giving an obscene gesture.