u/JuicyBray

I got woken up this morning by a 727 area code phone call. The lady, (I think it was a lady) told me my social security number and commended me for not having wifi or a microwave at my address.

She told me to go to some coordinates and pick up an unmarked [REDACTED] and deliver it four hours west to [REDACTED], Texas. If she didn't recite my social and address I would have called the police. I just hope she's not lying about the " generous compensation." I could use the money, gas just hit four dollars.

I just got to the van at [DATA EXPUNGED]. It's 9:07am on May 18, 2026 a.d. Just in case I'm never seen again. I'll post again when it's delivered.

Get out of your head and write a story based on this mod-approved prompt. Also, comment on this post if you post a story based on this prompt, I'd love to read what you all come up with. Make sure to include the corresponding flair with the prompts subgenre.

Subgenre: Fantasy

Write a story about revenge that includes the taste of soap and the sound of fire.

If you don't have any ideas or have too many ideas, just slow down and practice the craft of writing with someone else's idea.

Write a story from this prompt, making sure to use the Cosmic/Lovecraftian flair when you post it.

Subgenre: Cosmic/Lovecraftian

Prompt: Write a first person perspective story that touches on grief and includes the smell of spaghetti.

Have fun with it y'all.

Content Warning: Child involved with Adult sex acts. I hate this world.

Part Three: The boy lazes on his bed on a Saturday morning. His mother is out to the farmers market in another manic phase of joyful love of the community. This leaves his older brother to be in charge of the house, which he takes very seriosuly by sleeping until their mom returns.

The boy's age, in the single digits, proves much about him. He knows how to keep secrets, but doesn't realize why they should be kept. He practices deceit as though he will one day perfect it. And he is tragically no stranger to the broken sexual nature of Man. But none of the weight that that carries has settled on him. He still pisses the bed afterall.

So he lazes in his bed, feigning a lack of energy and listening to the birds before hearing a buzz. His iPod touch vibrates with a notification that reads something boring. The boy reaches for it and clicks it open. First he plays Angry Birds and cranks the volume up, mimicking with innocence the sounds of each bird as they fight for their eggs, their very posterity. In the grasps of filthy green pigs have these birds allowed their young ones to fall, but our boy will retrieve them. No matter how many birds it takes.

After launching seven birds the boy bores of this and searches for another activity. He remembers the incantation his brother once told him and opens up safari. Typing in the key to a chest with no lock, the boy peruses the unlimited access to human anatomy that the internet afforded him. He clicks on a video and only now notices the hardened member in his Captain America pajama bottoms. Not yet knowing what to do with the controller, he stares at the screen as a grown woman displays what her mama gave her to disembodied men behind the camera. The men quite quickly become embodied but only by view of a member much larger. The twitching and discomfort of the boy grows strange so he rolls over and presses it into the mattress while continuing to view the portable union.

It's after the woman eats that her body is displayed on the screen. The video seems to buffer momentarily so the boy impatiently taps the screen but jumps as his finger presses into flesh. He drops the iPod with a stifled start. The device lands on its screen and the boy looks to his bedroom door expecting an angry brother to storm in with the fury of a 13 year old.

No brother appears, but the iPod containing the woman moans with pleasure that pierces everything good about a lazy Saturday morning. The boy scrambles to turn down the volume and does so with speed. It's not his first rodeo, morbidly.

He picks the iPod up again to see a rhythmic ripple about the woman's fertile parts and marvels at her beauty before getting another uncomfortable twitch behind the masked face of Steve Rogers. The boy, curious as to what his finger felt, presses onto the screen while the video moves beneath it. Cold glass. He is almost disappointed and continues to watch what he's not supposed to. The screen pauses again. He instinctively touches the screen and receives the same sensation as before. The frozen flesh of the woman is warm to the touch and this time seems to bulge out of the screen like being gently pressed against her. The boy puts his nose against the soft screen and then his forehead, seeking to sense this closer. But as she is out of view, he feels cold glass against his head and hears her sensual moaning near his ear. He gets an idea.

The boy pauses the video and touches the screen. Flesh. Now bulbous and straining out of the boys polygonal looking glass, he places his palm against her shrunken stomach and cups her breast with a fraction of his already small hands. He holds the iPod flat and sees her flesh protruding out of the screen as though the naked camera man were pressing her through the glass and out of the device without changing the perspective. He presses play again.

The two on the phone have it out for about a minute longer before the man takes a vain close-up of his own intrusion of her. The boy pauses once more and the flesh slowly bulges out, he touches the woman's wound and runs his finger down to the man inside it. It's wet to the touch and gets on the boys finger. He sniffs it but fails to recognize the scent of sweat and liquid arousal. I hate to tell you that he then licks it off of his finger and concludes that it is sweat from it's salt content. Noticing a lack of uncomfortable twitching in his pants, he presses play once more.

The shot pans up the woman's body and captures her face and chest. Her countenance is contorted in emotions that the boy is unaware of. He presses pause and concludes that she is in pain and could use a kiss to make it better. The flesh sticks out of the screen even further this time, losing the rounded edge of pressure and instead remains a four cornered brick of woman like spam protruding from the can about half an inch. The boy doesnt hesitate to kiss the woman on the head, feeling her hair and tasting her sweat, but a wet sensation tickles his nose unbearably. See, as he kissed her forhead, what the screen had cut off of the rest of her head was exactly that. Cut off. And his nose went just over the screen and brushed against the severed flesh. He wipes the blood from his nose and drops his iPod before quickly pressing the fleshy play button. Their sounds ring out even on the lowest volume setting before mute. But the boy is wiping his nose on the backside of his pillow silently.

After getting to a point that he considers clean, he looks to the screen and sees now the woman's back. He pauses as an experiment and watches as their flesh rises up through the screen, at first bulging out but then succumbing to the hard dividing lines of the rectangle viewing lens. This time her body comes up and the boy looks again at the iPod from its flat side. He sees on the bottom side about three quarters of an inch of her lower spine and muscles. The two short sides he sees only her skin, as her horizontal figure is still within the screen, but on the top side the boy sees into her skull and what looks to be her tongue and her bottom row of teeth, as this is where the screen cuts off her head. From the head portion of her body seaps blood and saliva out onto the carpet. The boy realizes this and presses play once more before tripling down on this novel experience and preparing a place to partake of it.

Beneath his bunk bed is a stash of piss soaked underwear that he hides from his mom in embarrassment. He retrieves a couple pair of these cold undergarments and places his little square idol on it's virgin boy piss throne before pressing pause on another close up of the man's intrusion into the woman. The flesh rises and the boy fondles it in morbid curiosity, disregarding the blood on his hands and underwear. He presses play and pauses for a few other shots before the last, most disgusting shot. The boy wonders if it feels like what it looks like, and it does. He wipes the stringiness of what state he was in just 9 years earlier on the pissy underwear before hearing the house door open.

His mom shouts excitedly, "I found some eggplant at the market, I'm making eggplant parm tonight." The boy is startled and clicks the iPod closed, becoming a black box surrounded in a pool of blood, saliva, sweat, and semen, while resting atop Spiderman underroos soaked in old piss. He slides this with force against the wall under his bed and wipes his hands on the underside of his mattress before running into the kitchen to greet his mom. She looks at him and is taken aback by his appearance. "What's is all over your face son? Did you have a nose bleed?" The boy's heart smiles at the offering and takes it with delight. He plays his puppy dog eyes against his mother's heart strings and says "Yeah, I was picking my nose again."

Mathias Trevago was born to James and Virginia Trevago (stage names) in 1973 in the affluent Hollywood Hills. He was born with Noonan's syndrome, which caused his teeth and jaws to grow together in the womb. His eyes were pinched off by his skull growing in where his eye sockets once were. The eyes came out intact and preserved from the amniotic fluid during contractions, and were then freeze-dried and preserved in resin as a bar mitzvah gift. His strange birth defect did not kill him, though, as many infants have the good fortune of learning. Instead of suffocating him, his sinuses grew like a vascular being would, and provided an airway for his lungs through his ears. This made for large, almost flattened ears about twice the size of a normal human infant's. A terrible shrieking whistle was heard as he crowned, reaching piercing frequencies that threatened the glass in the room. The doctors and nurses were effectively concussed at the boy's binaural whine, but James Trevago heard gold. He grabbed the baby—kicking, swiping, and whistling through his ears—and held him to his chest before even being cleaned up.

​The hideous fiend was 13.4 pounds of body and mangled face. His arms had developed flawlessly, save for his shoulders effectively growing all the way around the joint, which happened to improve his balance later on. His head, as described, was wet, red, and unreadable. James Trevago noted, "Plastic surgery will come along with our family." But James looked down at the cursed creature's legs and saw feet that resembled a handheld pigeon launcher for skeet shooting. Horrible for walking, so they decided to amputate. Bad legs and no face would be redundant anyway.

​So, as they brought this deformed, amputee baby boy home, they repeated his name "Mathias" over and over again to him. And when they finally came home, they had an awful realization. Half of the toys they had been gifted required sight. And half of the ones that didn't would have mocked him for having no legs. So they sold everything useless like books, puzzles, and walkers. They opted to keep the obvious like percussion instruments, noise makers, and a cutting-edge sing-along device that Mathias found particularly handsome.

​James and Virginia decided it best to start the boy off with an apt introduction to modern music. They turned on their trusty BSR and flipped around The Beatles' self-titled album, counting lines to match the needle up with "Birthday." The opening drum riff sent Mathias into a frenzy; writhing in excitement, he pounded his little arms against his soft playpen floor and whistled with glee out of his ears, which the Trevago parents could now tell only muffled actual vocal cords deep within the boy's little chest. He slowed down his reaction and actually caught the downbeat with both arms and slammed them down in time with Ringo Starr's snare and bass-heavy beat. Mathias' parents were astonished and proud. They praised him and picked him up, only for him to continue the rhythm on their backs while recreating the sounds of guitar and shouty vocals with each ear respectively. Within the same week, trained professionals in the industry came to pay respects to the nugget of a boy. However, incapable of seeing them, Mathias was only impressed by those that could sing and keep a rhythm. Such names as Marvin Gaye, Jackson Browne, and Alice Cooper made an impact on the boy. But none quite as much as Jackson Browne.

​As the boy grew into school age, he was given ample opportunity to hone his craft under Jackson Browne mostly, but this was merely a preparatory relationship. The real learning came from Stevie Wonder, another blind musician. Their meeting was one of much renown, as both Stevie and Mathias were introduced by touching each other's faces. Stevie looked notably more puzzled than any other time he greeted people this way. It should be noted: this was after the plastic surgery had tucked and clipped away all the stray nostrils, teeth, and lips. So Stevie basically felt someone's back that rounded the sides into strangely large ears. Mathias had already learned to whistle most of the piano works of Stevie Wonder, and after Wonder felt the strong and large hands of the five-year-old Mathias, he immediately put them on the keys and worked them into instruments fit for worship, much less performance.

​After Stevie Wonder began talks of making Martin Luther King Junior's birthday into a holiday, James and Virginia slowly phased him out of Mathias's life and introduced him to the one and only Paul Newman. Paul saw the boy as "freakishly novel" and said as much to the Rolling Stone. He told Grover Lewis, "Mathias Trevago? Mat? I call him Mat. That kid is something else. He's destined to be a star, the ultimate triple threat. He was blessed with perfect pitch, a keen sense of rhythm, and the acting chops. All that's missing is the voice, the legs, and the face." He would go on to repeat this sentiment almost verbatim on The Late Show with David Letterman and The Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson.

​But Paul was not seeking notoriety or fame from being around Mathias. James and Virginia had loved Paul Newman since Cool Hand Luke (where they were background performers and assistants to Newman) and much preferred his political ambitions to Stevie Wonder's. And the three would go on to nurture Mathias "Mat" Trevago into an American hero, an inspiration to the differently-abled, and a real kick to the ego of people who had no talent and no disabilities.

​By the time Mathias was 12 years old in 1985, he had performed drums and piano live with the likes of Elton John, Led Zeppelin, Earth, Wind & Fire, and Fleetwood Mac. He had opened for artists such as Guns N' Roses, Poison, Wham!, Madonna, Phil Collins, and Whitney Houston. These were paid appearances, like gigs. His real career had continued with Jackson Browne as his head producer and "Ears." ("Ears" was the official job title written and approved by David Geffen of Asylum Records.) But as Mat hit puberty, his body went through the normal changes, which forced him to back away from his vibratory whistling gigs until his vocal cords matured and focus on a career on the screen. He and his father would utilize this time training his body to be as fit as possible for a boy with two arms, a chest, and a head with no face. He had already learned to walk and run using his hands, but he was on track to gain some very niche acting gigs that would require even more physical prowess. There was an offer from NBC for him to act as a costumed stunt double on "Alf," which he didn't quite earn, but he still managed to make fast friends with Benji Gregory and even played the famous bass line in the show's intro. Not long after tapes of Mat's performance for Alf were circulated, he was offered a host position on MTV's The 1/2 Hour Comedy Hour. He played himself in a running skit where he would interact with beautiful women with nothing but claps and whistles. The show didn't last as long as MTV Unplugged, another show that Mathias worked closely on. It did, however, put Trevago on the radar of one Lorne Michaels of SNL. But before his adult years, Mathias had to finish schooling with his parents, Paul Newman, and Jackson Browne. By his bar mitzvah, he had effectively mastered the drum kit, the bass guitar, the piano, the spoons, the xylophone (and the vibraphone), and could even prove his perfect pitch down to the frequency. After his bar mitzvah, Jackson Browne and Asylum Records were willing to end their contract and pay Mathias out every penny he signed for. With this new freedom and money, the only thing left to do was earn freedom from his parents.

​He began to work on mastering what was left of his physical form. He could climb a rope, scale a cinderblock wall both ways, hang for three minutes straight, and even hold an Iron Cross for 90 seconds. He used all of this training to earn a career as an action movie stuntman where he would play dismembered bodies clinging to dear life. He worked at this until his eighteenth birthday, and his parents were happy to let their little man fly the nest. And fly the nest he did.

​He flew from Hollywood to New York the week of his birthday and began auditioning for Broadway musicals. Along the route he ran into Kurt Masur and earned a unique title of "Principal Multiphonetician," where he would lend his hands to the percussion section, his whistling ears to the woodwinds, and his deep guttural groan to the brass section. But acting, screen time, and reactions were the only buzz that Mat was chasing. So he continued his Broadway career and dropped the orchestral stuff when it started to interfere with his musical theater. But late in 1994, the freshly 21-year-old Mathias Trevago got a call from Lorne Michaels offering a spot on the band of SNL. Mathias whistled in affirmation at the news and spun circles in his Upper East Side apartment.

​Soon Mathias Trevago got to meet the best cast SNL has ever had and play music on the same stage that has seen fame through the ages. But the star-struck nature wasn't limited to Mathias. Adam Sandler was inspired by Mathias into learning guitar and singing. The two found friendship almost immediately, which in turn ingratiated Mat to almost the whole cast. One notable exception was Norm Macdonald. Macdonald would later claim on his "Norm Macdonald Live" podcast with Adam Eget that "Mathias and I never got good footing. Didn't quite see eye to eye, know what I mean? I mean, the guy is physically incapable of laughing. Any comic worth his weight wouldn't make friends with someone like that. But he was a helluva whistler though." Mathias would, in his later days, send Macdonald the resin-cast eyes from his birth as a gift with a note attached. Mathias finished strong on SNL before leaving over "creative differences" with Will Ferrell and Jimmy Fallon. Some contend, though, that Chris Farley and Mathias Trevago were accused of gross misconduct after Farley's inquiry regarding Trevago's reproductive organ viability. He is accused by female grips as having removed his garment and laid down on the ground before grabbing his genitalia and rocking back and forth while imitating a fighter jet with his ears. There were no charges or legal action taken.

​Mathias Trevago continued to work on Broadway productions before in 2002 he produced his own autobiographical production entitled "Mat." The show itself appalled audiences, as it drew "improper" conclusions of the events of September 11th just a few short months after the fact. It was a pulled thread that would unravel the Trevago name before 2004. Both James and Virginia legally changed their names back to their given names "Jacob & Abigail Steinowitz" in order to distance themselves from their son and the characters written in the production. Mathias, however, doubled down and wrote a sequel production entitled "Matt" in 2005 that never received funding due to an even deeper dive on Trevago's bizarre beliefs about 9/11. He chose to self-fund, having accrued quite the savings account over his decades of fame and notoriety. This self-funded production managed to be seen by hundreds of thousands after a pirated recording made it onto the streaming platform "YouTube."

​It is rumored that Mathias was working on a third production before, on the closing night, he fell from a suspension cable while depicting Howard Lutnick as a bird and broke his spine from the fall. Some also rumored that Mathias was heavily involved with drugs and alcohol after his parents publicly disavowed him and opted for the grandest reaction of them all, death on stage. Even fewer rumored that his death was a murder. Either way, he died in September of 2006 and his name was buried under the sands of circumstantial evidence.

He was 33 years old.

The angels, not to be confused with the dead elect, are an order of being under the reign of the Almighty. Regardless of these creatures' disposition toward the Almighty, they are in total subjection to him. The relation of this heavenly host to the Almighty, Mankind, and Nature is subject to much speculative interpretation. This is due to the misapplication of the Word. The Word does not prescribe the relationship of Angels to God, but Man to God. Angelic Law is not to be comprehended from inspired scriptures. But we can see it in history and nature if we utilize our image to tell it as the story that it is.

I

The angel with no given human name stands baffled and afraid. He, if human pronouns were apt to address him, sees other members of his order doing what their authority has commanded. They fly with six wings above the principals that would have them defiled, doing destruction. The angel of subject cups his wings behind what Man would equate to his head. He listens intently as the burning containers collapse in on vessels that burn regardless. They scream and writhe in pain, those that feel the fire. Those that don't feel it continue to burn as before, fueling the fire that rains down on them. Our subject angel listens intently for prayer from anyone in these cities, ordered to save from the death of flesh anyone who seeks the Almighty in earnest. He hears plenty of vain defilements of the name, but not one cries out for refuge or deliverance. This isn't a surprise to our subject angel.

Hours before, the angel concealed himself near a conversation that would be written but comparatively unsung. Unlike the names of the cities, the pleading voice of Man would not grace the lips of many on either side of time. Instead, the desires of the faithful for the salvation of the wicked would be construed as 'hate' and 'bigotry.' These are terms of Man that haven't the nuance for our story today.

The conversation between the Christ and the man called Abraham was just as baffling to our subject angel. The Almighty, being questioned and approached by a Man, did not rebuke the creature for such incessant requests. Instead, the Man Abraham showed the disdain for his own repetitive questions that we might expect the Almighty to show. And in turn, the Lord of Hosts did not rebuke the man, but listened and answered.

It must be noted here that Angels don't have such fickle interactions with God. In the Order of Angels the relationship is how Men say "black and white." You are in obedient subjection to God or you are in rebellious, contemptuous subjection to God. The emotions of Man muddy the waters in a way that only God understands, in a way that only God enjoys.

So, the intercession of Abraham for the monuments to debauchery that are Sodom and Gomorrah caused our subject angel to be ordered to listen. He was ordered to listen for righteous prayer. It was in the midst of this temporal task that he started to ask questions of himself. He isn't created to question God, or at least not yet he's not. He takes orders, follows them, and worships God. But it is when he sees a fellow angel turn a woman in the distance into a pillar of salt that a question 'comes to mind' (to speak as a Man.)

The angel wonders why God treats Man so differently. The consequences of disobedience, the prescription of binding law, the sacrificial system of atonement. None of it really mirrors how the Almighty deals with angels. He knows it's not an issue of 'free will' as Man would put it thousands of years after these destructions. For he is an Angel. He knows that even those in rebellion are bound to do the will of the Almighty. But regardless of the solace granted by this confession of subjection, the perplexity remained pungent. Why has God taken such interest in Man? Is there any interest of the same order in the angels? What refuge does an angel in rebellion have with the God that would save Man? Any at all?

The questions strike fear within the angel. He trembles before looking around to a different setting all together. One that he is familiar with. He orbits the prison known to Man as 'Jupiter' along side the cherubim wardens. The chaos intermed in the atmosphere of this gas giant swirls and strikes in on itself. The 'storm' of 'Jupiter' is clearly visible and it shifts on the surface as though a chaotic iris amidst a tumultuous white of an enormous eye, meeting the gaze of our subject angel. The piercing gaze of this celestial orgy returns the fear and trembling to our rather fickle subject before grace intercedes.

The craft of Man named 'Juno' continues it's course which just so happens to eclipse our angel from the sight of 'Jupiter's' wrath. In the cold, unfeeling sense that a metalurgy produces, this 'Juno' continues in it's path, tracking 'Jupiter's' storm to tell Man of what has transpired. What it won't relay is the salvation of our subject angel. This aloof, Man made cherubim blocked our angel from the pit of rebellion and turned his gaze back toward the Sun. In this cosmic intercession our angel of subject loses even more of his understanding of Man. The orbit of the cherubim and 'Juno' remain unchanging against the self-inflicted chaos on the surface. The angel moves and takes shelter behind 'Juno' while pondering Man's forbidden knowledge made both mundane and wondrous. The iron hoe for gardening and the gallium arsenide for solar power extraction find their root in beings like our angel. Less like our angel in disposition, but more of the same order, essence, and class. For our angel is what Man have called an Iyr. A wakeful one. A watcher.

Now if this author may intercede for our subject angel, he would not be in rebellion but loving subservience to the Almighty. And in this subservient position he would still act according to his being. Telling and teaching the good ordinances of nature with only the Glory of the Lord as his destination. But then again dear reader, this author has known intimate rebellion against God. So follow along with me and the angel of my pen, but heed not his word nor mine. Neither of us speak with authority, despite our authorship.

I (24m) have had an on and off relationship with weightloss and fitness. I consider myself exceptionally fit and active for someone that weighs over 350 lbs, but it's no secret to myself or others that I am bordering morbid obesity. I hope to utilize reddit for encouragement from others and to keep me on track. I have a useful calorie tracking app that I have successfully utilized in the past called Lose It and I plan on visiting the gym three times a week at 5am CST on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I am a religious man as well, so if you feel inclined to do so, please pray that I(Justin) have the discipline to hold to my calorie tracking and scheduled exercise. Otherwise leave a comment with suggestions and encouragement. A few questions:

Can I post progress pictures in this subreddit?

Does anyone have brand reccomendations for a scale that track the 350-450 weights with accuracy?

What other subreddits would you recommend joining to help with this?

Thank you for reading, I love you.

Part Two: The street light cycles on and off over the blue Chevy pick up truck. Before his shift at the store, Chester sits outside of lodge 381. Mary Lou is asleep at home, along with most of the town. Save for a few overzealous fraternity members. The light flicks on, revealing the square and compass reigning over his dashboard. The warm mandarin color washes the parking lot for a long moment before subsiding to it's own heat. As it cools off, the silvery glow of the waning moon is most prevalent. The sole occupant of the truck scratches at a chip in his dashboard before being chided by Rodney.

"Quit pickin at it." The obviously elder man barked at Chester, known to him as 'Chet.'

"Knew you'd be here." Chet responded, placing his hands on his legs and exhaling.

"To tell you not to make the biggest mistake of your life? Damn straight I'm here." Rodney looked over at Chet from the passenger seat, now illuminated by the warm light of the fully lit bulb. He's an elder man for sure, but mostly in experience. He prevails worry lines, followed by smile lines, followed by crows feet, and very faintly in last place are frown lines. But the frown lines are showing now.

"Biggest mistake? Seriously? You know what we got up to in Korea-"

"You. I know what you have confessed to me regarding your time in Korea. I wasn't there for that if you'll recall." Rodney strokes his tuft of a beard in distaste for the memory. His bushy eye brows furrel as he snaps back to his reproof. The street light subsides to the moon leaving just a smoldering orange caterpillar within the bulb. Rodney continues, "Yes, Chet, joining this stupid club will be the worst decision of your life." Rodney's eyes gleaned in the moonlight, sandwiched by the almost glowing silver hairs of his goat-like beard and brows.

"Ahh come on, the guys said it's the closest thing to brotherhood on this side of civillian life." Chet's resolve to partake in the fellowship hardened against Rodney's advice.

"Chet 'the guys' are the ones that brought you in on that shit in Korea." Rodney, now glowing the warm color of the street lamp, expressed a worry that fit the lines on his face. Chet, seeing the concern on Rodney's face, shifted uncomfortably as the light died again. As the light died it's little death, Rodney's face took a shape unknown to poor Chester. It was a face of expecting hunger, a face that would drool if left like that for long. The man's eyes even radiated the same silvery steel as the moon. He looked intently across the cab at his friend who was struggling to come up with a lie. The look faded right before Chet looked back to him and started.

"No no, you're thinking of different guys, I'm talking about my CO's" Chester lied but only halfway. His buddies that did the 'the thing' were in fact the ones that convinced him, but his favorite CO being a member pretty much sealed the deal. As Chester lied, the light came back and shined on Rodney and Chet the same. What seems to be two men sharing counsel takes a long and awkward pause. Long enough even for the street light to kick back off and for Rodney's face to malform again. This time it's a face of exuberance and overwhelming joy. Between his silver facial hair, a face so exaggerated you'd think he was a Greek thespian without the commodity of makeup. But his face stayed like this, hard and unmoving in the darkness, excepting for when he spoke. His voice hadn't changed a bit, he still spoke to be heard and listened to, knowing that Chet couldn't see his face.

"You're no good at lying Chet. No matter how much you try to learn from me." Rodney's voice projected a face of pride and slight annoyance, but the unsettling smile and wide-eyed countenance didn't budge. Chet looked over at him and almost noticed Rodney's face from the profile before the light jumped back on and it became as normal again. Chet brushed it off, along with his conscience, and doubled down on his lie.

"I ain't joining for those freaks, I respect Col. Glenn. I'm joining because he put his word on it." Chester said, proud of himself for sticking up for a friend. Rodney's visible face still spoke of concern and hardness against the idea. The light flicked off right before he started, and his facade went with it. His face, again disfigured into one comparable to something out of a Kubrick movie. Still human enough, but so far out of the emotional bounds of this conversation to seem almost supernatural in it's malevolence. And still, his voice juxtaposed his hidden countenance.

"Col. Glenn ain't even a member of this one, he's in Chicago. But you know exactly who is in this one don't you." This statement was exactly that. Rodney called Chet to confess with these words, there was not earnest desire for knowledge in them. The light turns back on and Rodney's face almost doesnt change. The most noticable difference is the smile subsides into a frown. Hie eye brows raise a little to show some more concern, but the tilt of his head and upward gaze still attempted to pierce into Chet's soul.

"Who?" Chet responded seeking clarity. As far as he knew, he was the only Arkansas boy in the whole platoon. At this question, Rodney starts acting. His face and voice shift to discomfort briefly before resolve to change the subject.

"It doesn't matter, you're not even religious Chet. How could you join one of the oldest religions on earth?" Between sentences the light cycles once more, leaving only moonlight. His face contorts and he licks his lips and chin in silence after speaking, as if reaching for a flavorful sauce or crumb on his face. Chet's eyes are locked on Rodney and he can see clearly what he's doing. But his heart and mind are not put off by Rodney's manic expressions. They are meditating on who could be a member of this lodge that did 'the thing' with him in Korea. Would they do it here? But he broke his gaze off of Rodney's strange face and looked forward, continuing the conversation in obligation.

"I should be religious. Mary Lou is." Chet said this with a lump of coal for a heart. He always despised Mary Lou's family ever since her father refused to give him her hand in marriage.

"Not the same religion." Rodney said with a scoff, dropping the face licking and almost defending Mary Lou.

"It might as well be. They built this country. They have the most interconnected community on the planet. They have the most secrets to learn, the most access to power. Why wouldn't I want to be a part of that?" Chester said mostly to himself, still leaning forward and staring at some unknown spot in the distance. Rodney leaned in eerily close and breathed a breath with no air. His face, shrouded in silver is contorted into one of climax, intense enjoyment, and release. He actually does druel onto Chester's shoulder now. The light comes back on and his face doesnt change. His beard and brow almost tickling Chet's neck as he gazes in ungodly enjoyment at the side of Chet's head. Finally, he speaks.

"Whatever you want to do man, no judgements here." Chester smiles with Rodney close at the side of his neck and turns the key in the ignition. He drives away, to start making donuts for the locals next to his loving wife, Mary Lou.