I've been on my knees trying to scrub up all the blood and scraps of paper for the last

half hour.

I'm making some progress, but it's slow, and I keep having to stop when my hands start

shaking too much.

I'm out of my apartment for the moment, sitting on the floor in the hallway, and I can

feel my nerves settling in.

I'm going to write this out so that I have it all recorded, and also, so I can wait a

bit before having to go back in.

It started when I was bored yesterday.

The internet was out in my apartment, and after casting about for a couple of hours trying

to read or do some cleaning, I was out of ideas to entertain myself.

That's when I saw the box of stationery on my desk.

My aunt Emma had given me stationery as a birthday gift the week before, and there was

nothing inherently wrong with such a gift.

It was a box of high-quality paper and envelopes, personalized with my initials at the top

of the sheets of paper, and on the back fold of the envelopes.

As a 70-year-old man, I would have probably thought they were the cats pajamas, but as

a 25-year-old, not so much.

But still, I was very bored, so I sat down at my desk and started messing around with

it.

That first, I tried writing as neatly and fancily as I knew how.

My handwriting is horrid, and my best effort to look like a slow fourth grader has opposed

...