The Shards

by Bret Easton Ellis

There was an initial narrative that I was creating against the backdrop of these sickening crimes that felt like being in a movie, especially when I’d play Fleetwood Mac’s “I’m So Afraid” in the empty house on Mulholland high on Valium, wandering along the veranda, imagining someone was watching me, accompanied by Lindsey Buckingham’s wailing guitar solo echoing over the cliff side and the eucalyptus and jacaranda trees, but it couldn’t sustain itself and soon I was buying weed from Jeff Taylor in order to fall asleep more easily, numbing myself from the fear that would descend in the moments after I got into bed and turned off the lights, imagining sounds everywhere, the Trawler breaking in, because it was your turn now, the ski mask above me would say in that awful drawling voice, eyes wide with madness.