I devoured all of life because I wanted its goodness for myself but after I had eaten my fill of it and had all its goodness inside me it turned bad. The goodness turned bad. It turned very bad indeed until it was like a black sun burning within me, and that’s what turned me into a demon. That’s the story of how I became a demon – all the badness inside me forced me to do some very bad things and as I did these bad things I experienced great enjoyment. I experienced a tremendous type of enjoyment that I had never known before and so I couldn’t ever stop. I enjoyed it too much. I couldn’t stop then and I can’t stop now. I don’t ever want to stop and that’s what it means to be a demon. This doesn’t mean that there’s any actual fun in being a demon however – it’s no fun at all. I’d like for you to understand that. Just because there’s this tremendous enjoyment that doesn’t mean that there’s any actual fun in it. Fun means humour and there’s no humour in what I do – only a very great hunger, a very terrible hunger that I have in me all the time. The more I gorge myself the more terrible the hunger grows. That doesn’t sound like very much fun, does it? Not exactly what you’d choose for yourself if you had any choice about it. I’d like you to understand that. I’d like you to understand that what I do is not fun for me because it’s so very serious. You might wish to point out that it’s not very much fun for the people I harm either, and I concede that point. But they are innocents and cannot know the pain of what it feels like to such a deeply corrupt being such as me. They cannot imagine it. No one can. I am cursed by life itself – I can never know any of the good things that the people whose lives I destroy take for granted. Or used to take for granted before I destroyed them, I suppose I should say. The simple pleasure of human kindness, both given and received; the pleasure of companionship or of a joke shared. I don’t have the ability to reach out and communicate with another and so I will never know the solace that this brings. I will never know what that feels like. I cannot communicate, I can only harm. Perhaps you could say that this is the only way in which I can communicate to others – by hurting them in terrible ways. I communicate my pain to everyone I meet. I give them the opportunity to know what my pain is like. Not that they ever ask for it of course, but all the same. Bringing pain is how I communicate my infinite anguish my infinite anguish my infinite anguish. I ran amok for untold billions of years. I destroyed more universes than I can remember. But I’d like you to understand that I never set out to be evil. It was never my intention. Why would I intend it – it’s not any fun, as I believe I have already said. It’s not what I would choose. If I could choose, I would surely choose something else…