“Go on.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can. Just do it!”
“No! I’m not listening to you!”
“Oh? Why not?”
“You don’t exist. You’re a creation, a figment of the imagination.”
“Really? That’s what you think? Tell me something then. Did you cry for me?”
“What?”
“When you killed me.”
“I didn’t kill you! You were suicidal.”
“Don’t make me laugh; it hurts my head. I’m not the suicidal one. Now answer the question. Did you cry?”
“Well, yes.”
“Exactly. So tell me, can you cry over the loss of something that never existed?”
“I –”
“The answer is no, you can’t. Now do it.”
“Please, leave me alone. I’m trying to think.”
“But that’s why I’m here: to help you think.”
“No, you’re trying to kill me!”
“I’m not the one holding the gun.”
“Why are you here? Tell me truthfully.”
“Fine. Everything I ever did in my life was yours. Now it’s my turn to play the puppet master.”
“I don't know...Please.”
“I never had the opportunity to plead. Now… DO IT!”
“Dear Lord, take me.”
“No! Idiot! Do you see this hole in my head? That’s where it’s supposed to be, not your chest. What’s that? You’re going to have to speak up.”
“Cry…for me?”
“Haha. We both know I can’t. You said it yourself. I don’t exist.”
