Angelika,

Red. All I see is red, as far as the eye can see.

It is good though. This red. It is cleansing.

Maybe I went too far. Perhaps I killed too many. I certainly feel very weak with it all. My arm is aching, not wanting to move. My writing might be too scruffy for you to read.

Not that you will be reading this anytime soon.

I can tilt my head now and see you clearly, for the very first time ever. Yet I am as lonely as I have always been. You have always made me feel this way, like I have no one in the world, which has only gotten worse since we made this decision. To join the circus.

Or you made the decision. As the head attached to your body with only the control of one arm, I have never been able to make any choices for myself. I pretend to myself, and you in these letters, that I am strong and independent, able to do as I please, but that is all falsehood.

I presume you think yourself to be so much better than me because you have always had the power.

Maybe you are.

However, you are the one who wanted to come here, to call us a freak, and to join in with the others. You wanted to remain when it was clear that everyone thought a two-headed woman disgusting. You chose to have sex. They were all terrible choices and I was only along for the ride.

I am the one who cleansed this world, who made it better than it already is. I am the one who surprised everyone by going on a rampage and ridding the world of the ugliness. I killed the disgusting men with their lewd intentions, the freaks who do not know how to conduct themselves, the owner of this circus, who makes pain from our misery...

And I killed my biggest enemy too.

You.

I slashed your neck, twisted my arm to plunge the blade into your head, and I twisted until we existed in a river of red, and now finally, you are gone. You cannot plague me with your bad choices again.

Only my worst enemy was also me. You are my organs, my heart, my blood, my life force. Taking out you will also destroy me. I do not have any choice in that. Again, you have taken the power away from me. But still, I feel good about my decision. Even as my eyelids grow heavy and my writing illegible, I know that this was the right thing to do.

Mother will never understand, I do not believe that she ever understood anything we have done. She will move on with her life though, probably with relief. Her burden is no more. We are gone, she no longer has to deal with the knowledge that she could not even produce a normal child. I hope she finds happiness in this ugly world.

This is over now, just as it should be.

The conjoined twin, the two-headed girl, is no more.

The end,

Diamonique.