Why did I do it?

I don't know.

I just... I suddenly had the urge. The uncontrollable desire.

It was a part of my past, I HAD to do it.

I remember staring at the treasure chest for maybe 10 seconds before making up my mind.

I had to open that chest, I just had to pull the bright black file folder out of it.

This little folder was all that was left... hard to believe... So many writings... so many stories... so many imaginary worlds. This is what survived.

THIS is what made it?

I began reading over some of the few writings of mine that had lived through the 'great destruction' of 2008. 'The Apartment' had 3 pages left. 'Dawn of the Ninja' a startling 17 pages remained. 'Shadow Girl' a poem. 'Kraxis' had nearly 3 chapters of blood and gore and revenge... a mysteriously suspicious stain sticking almost five pages together. 'Blood Moon' wow, I hadn't written a half bad werewolf story... 'A page of insanity', which is exactly as the title implies. 'armadillos, The Biological terrorists!'

That's when I heard the voice.

Not a voice.

THE voice.

The voice in my head. The voice that had gone silent years ago.

"You know there's more." She said.

I cringed, knowing what she would say, what she would do... she would take over again.

She would pick up that imaginary dead hamster in my brain and throw it in the imaginary toilet in my brain and then stomp on the imaginary wheel until it was nothing but a pile of sharp metal rods stabbing me in the cerebellum.

The inner monologue came back. In full force. Why? I don't know.

I could see her in there, smashing my brain up, running a muck... Terrorizing my normal thoughts and making fart noises at them.

"The INTERNET!" She howled from inside my head. "I will retrieve whats been left, remember what has been forgotten and I will create!"

"Oh Jesus." I said to myself.

Maybe if I take a few more Tylenol PM's than usual she'll shut up. Maybe if I'm really quiet and still it'll pass...like a fart in the wind?

Too Late. We had merged.

"Fuck. Me." I sighed, slamming the glossy red folder shut and cringing as I went to the computer.

What was that one user name, for the sketches... all of those crazy... chaotic... Chaotic Scribbler. Fucking duh... and the e-mail to sign in... Shit. What was that password.. was it... yep, like a dog licking his butt... second nature.

So here I am.