My Alter Ego Wears an Ankle Monitor.

On writing under a pen name.

She’s like a prisoner, clanking away making license plates for mere prison wages. I make her buy me coffee with her earnings.

Her paychecks go into my bank account and I say what she’s allowed to spend it on. Currently, she’s only allowed to spend it on me.

Right now she’s sitting beside me playing an online slot machine. Since she doesn’t earn as much as I do, she’s gambling with my money. I hope she wins because I always get the money in the end.

It’s like she’s inside the Wentworth of writer’s prisons, only without the violence. I’m the top dog and she does my bidding.

She only gets supervised recreation time when I say so.

Nobody cares about her because I don’t let her socialize at all. She just writes to whoever will listen. Not many people listen because she has no friends on the outside.

I mean, I don’t even like her half the time but at least she tells it like it is.

Even though she’s required to wear an ankle monitor and be supervised, she’s the one who’s totally free.

She’s my pen name. My alter ego.

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