His trunk rolls up and trembles. I enjoy the impact on my victim and look deep into his eyes, in which fear makes small waves. “I want to live,” he begs, “please, let me live!” I look at him lovingly and whisper: “I can’t do that. I am your death.” I turn him over and pierce the back of his neck very gently with some saliva from my mouth. He immediately becomes quiet. Then I knead the stiffening body vigorously to thoroughly distribute the poison. As I do so, the honey from his goiter comes out. I enjoy it. Shortly afterwards he hangs next to you with a strange, dislocated smile on his face. I have worked on him with much love. He already dreams of me, like everyone else.

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