u/MANWITHFAT

One hundred days without the sun.

He walked into my room. He looked at me and he said, "Do you like it here?"

I laughed at him and it felt good.

"No," I said. "I hate it here." 

He looked pleased and left. 

I spent another hundred days without the sun. My skin had thinned until you could make out each vein pulling the blood to my hands. 

I grew thinner and thinner but hunger never found me. I was quietly disappearing. 

He walked in again. "Are you angry?" 

"No," I said. And I left it at that. 

He was disgruntled by my answer. "Why?" 

"Because I am alone. I've nothing to hate but myself." 

"But you hate it here?" 

"I do not hate what's here." 

He left again. But this time, on the floor where he stood, was a little scrap of jagged metal. 

It's the first thing I've seen outside of the white on the walls and my naked body.

I studied it for hours, days, weeks, months. It was sharp on one side, brittle on the other. It felt alien in my hands. It felt cold. 

I sat with it for a hundred days. And a hundred more. A thousand more. The man never visited me. 

My skin grew so faint I believed my blood and muscle would spill out of me. His words bounced around in my head. 

He wanted hate. He needed hate. 

I knew what I had to do. 

My skin gave easily to the scrap. My blood rushed from my arms and out over the floor. I lay in a heap, feeling the warmth wrap around my cooling skin. 

I closed my eyes and opened my mouth wide. 

I knew I had to be convincing. 

I heard him enter. I heard him stop. I heard him laugh.

He chuckled to himself. So proud of what he'd done. 

My body rose from the pool. His smile disappeared as the metal entered his throat.

I'm laughing now. 

Now I hate. Now I hate. 

A hundred days of sun. A hundred days of sun.

"We'll just issue a recall, it's not the first time. I mean shit how bad can it really be?" 

I look at the poor kid, clipboard gripped in his sweaty hands. I can barely see him over my desk. He thinks carefully for a second, like he's deciding what to say. 

"Sir, I don't think you understand. T-there's reason to believe the newest release harbored an embedded corrosive packet of data a-and..." I cut him off.

"Can we please just get to the fucking point, I'm leaving for lunch in a couple of minutes." 

He looks straight through me, "It's contagious, at our current implementation rate millions could die." 

I stand up from my chair, turning to look out over the city. It looks foggy from up here. Clouds lightly brush against the window. The buildings peek up at me from under my feet.

"You guys got a timetable on this?”

He shuffles through his pile of papers. "We discovered the bug last night, we've already tracked 295 failures in different parts of the world. We need to notify the public, this box can't be closed." 

I slam my hands down onto the desk. "No, fuck no. What the hell are we paying you guys for?"

When my father started this company, he had a vision. He saw a modern renaissance where individuals aren't slaves to want and vice. An implant that conquers the brain. He made me CEO to ensure that his legacy wouldn't die with him. 

For fuck's sake, the government even paid us to put them in vagrants. Lots of them got jobs, got married. 

"We don't notify the public and you get me a solution, okay?" 

He starts sputtering, flustered. He tries to block the door and I push past him. "I have lunch."

It's a long ride down the elevator to the street. I hop in the backseat and gesture for my driver to raise the partition. My phone rings and I pick it up without thinking.

"Hello?" 

A soft voice whispers back, "Oooo baby I miss you so much. When can you come to see me baby?” 

I sink down into my seat covering my mouth. "Never call this phone number again, okay? I'll call you tonight." 

"But daddy please I love y..." I mash the red button. It's a beautiful day, you can tell by how many people are out. The sky and clouds reflect in the buildings.

I see one of our billboards up ahead. Big bold letters, "TAP- did you know you could qualify for free installation? TAP into the future, a nation reborn."

Kind of wordy, I think marketing could have done better. We still put them throughout the city. 

I hop out of the car and weave through the line outside. I don't even look at the hostess, my table is ready. The guy I'm meeting with is already here, a bottle of wine separates him from the empty seat. He stands to shake my hand. 

"It's wonderful to see you, friend, please take a seat. I hope the bottle is to your liking." 

I drop into the chair and try to flag down a waitress. I look back to him and say, "What's with the warm welcome? The deal is far from closed. Texas Instruments just doubled your bid. It's going to take more than a bottle to impress me." 

I catch the eyes of my favorite waitress, she rushes over. Always thirsty for the tip. 

"Good afternoon sir, are we doing your regular today?" 

"Sure, get this gentleman the same. Make it quick, I don't see this taking long." 

I look back at the man, "You were saying?" 

He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a stack of papers. It's far too thick for my patience to allow. "Lockheed Martin is willing to not only match TI's offer, but we'll also allow TAP Inc full access to distribution and usage..."

My brain trails. If that kid was right, millions of people. This deal doesn't mean anything. I still let the guy continue, 

"We feel explicit military development with TAP can change the way nations engage in combat. It could firmly re-cement the United States as a dominant world superpower." 

My phone starts buzzing in my pocket. It's my "boss", head of the board. This is never good. 

"Sorry, I need to take this real quick. Hello?"

"I'm seeing shit all over the fucking news, some kind of whistleblower leak? Our fucking chips are bad and people are falling out in the street? The AP has already shit something out I'm watching the chuckle fucks on CNN discuss it live. Why the fuck am I hearing about this from a TV? How long have you known about this? I swear to God if you give me some bullshit non answer I'll reach through this phone and pull your fucking throat out."

The kid couldn't keep his mouth shut. Now that box really can't close. I eat my pride and fish for a response. "I've known for maybe 45 minutes, one of the tech guys told me but I had to run to a meeting."

"Where the fuck are you?" 

"At lunch with the Lockheed Martin executive, this is a massive deal."

The phone goes silent for a moment. He comes back with a yell so loud I can feel the spit through the speaker. "YOU'RE AT LUNCH? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. You're a worthless pig. Your father should have kept you in his sack that way I wouldn't spend all my fucking time cleaning up your bullshit. Get back to the office now or I'll hang you from the top floor of that fancy fucking building." The call drops, he hung up
. 
I sit for a moment, the executive across from me is waiting to resume. I sink into my chair and rub my temples. I notice the air in the room shift.  

A sudden smash rings out through the entire room. A tray of dishes hits the ground. A few people gasp and jump from their seats. 

A waiter is on the ground, seizing. His neck twitches and twists in impossible motions. Foam spills from his mouth and his eyes roll into the back of his head. A man yells for help, "Is anyone here a doctor?" 

Another falls. This time it's a patron. A large man, he brings the table down with him. People start panicking and scrambling for the exits. I give my meeting an Irish goodbye.

Halfway to the door I slam into a woman, she's dainty and gets sent back with force. The back of her head makes firm contact with one of the tables. I try to help her but she's limp. There's blood all over my hands. Her husband runs over, he hardly notices me before tears start welling in his eyes. I leave. 

I turn the corner and sprint for the car. I make it and start banging on the back window, the residual blood leaves frantic prints. He unlocks the door and I throw myself into the backseat. 

"Sir what's going on I saw on my phone they're saying..." 

I cut him off, panting from my escape. "The office, get to the fucking office."

He puts the car into gear. Just as our wheels get spinning an SUV careens into where we were just parked. Its metal body is lodged halfway into the restaurant. Down the road, the sidewalks are chaos. Twitching bodies litter every block. Cars are stalled out at intersections, even more are wrecked. 

Those yet affected wear their shock. A woman sobs over her husband. A child crawls from a wrecked car. A news helicopter capturing the scene veers aggressively into a building. It creates a fireball that covers the streets in debris.

My phone rings again, this time, it's my wife. I pick it up and she's sobbing. I try to calm her down. "Honey, it's okay I'm here. It's okay"

She slows her breathing enough to give me a response. "Honey, oh thank God, are you still in the city? I've seen the news, it's horrible. I can't get in touch with my mom and she still has the kids. I don't know what to do."

I pause, "It's all going to be alright, I'll try my best to get in touch with her." 

"Please come home, please get out of the city, please just come home." 

I know I can't, I'm not sure how to say that. "I need to run to the office first but I promise I'll be home as soon as I can." 

"Please don't leave me here alone."

At that moment the driver begins coughing, then sputtering. His body convulses violently. He slams his head into the window, cracking it. Blood leaks from his skull as his head dips forward. 

His foot is heavy on the gas, we barrel through a red light. A truck approaches on my side and crushes the car instantly. My phone sits shattered on the pavement, my wife is still on the line.

***

Your hands are wet and cold. You'd warm them if you could move your arms. The entire world fades into your guilt. 

It started small. You were a child then, the peering eyes of strangers made the world feel that much bigger. You didn't wear your fear or shame. You hid it away in that shell of a kid.

Every eye was always on you, in you. Even the ones that weren't. 

You were at the grocery store when you had your first break. Barely taller than the shopping cart, the staring and murmuring made you feel small, then scared, then angry.

Every glance was an indictment. 

So you grabbed that glass bottle and broke it against the cart, running screaming and swiping the jagged glass at every eye that witnessed. 

You didn't hurt any bystanders, only yourself. The sting of glass in your hand came after the pouring blood.

That landed you your first stay at the hospital. Your parents gave you the same gaze everyone else did. 

Everyone. 

Except for her. 

You met her after your second stay at the hospital. It was only a couple of days after your birthday. You were released early, again. You got good at good behavior. 

She had just moved in down the street, you guessed that she was about your age. She's beautiful, and she looked at you. 

Her eyes are not everyone else's. They looked curious. She didn't accuse you of anything. 

You looked back at her, four eyes glued at the seams.

You felt affection. A feeling so foreign and alien. 

She waved, and the world shrank. 

You didn't feel small, not in her eyes.

***

You got home and your father wouldn't even look at you. You appreciated the change, none was better than any. Maybe he finally caught on. 

Though it was really because he hated you. You were fresh out of the hospital for killing his dog, after all. You always hated the way your dad looked at it. He always seemed to understand the mutt. 

So you had to kill it, of course you did. 

Your mother was absent at best and vindictive at worst. As soon as her keys hit the counter she was headed for the wine cabinet. 

She'd get drunk, and dad would go watch porn in the garage. 

But you didn't care about any of that. 

You only cared about her.

The girl with no name. The girl who looked and saw. 

You had to know her, whatever it took. 

So you waited for dad to disappear, and you waited for your mom's 5PM Ambien to kick in, and you left. 

Out into the neighborhood of duplicate boxes, the sun was just starting to set. 

You spotted some dandelions and grabbed them. They were pretty, just like her. You gripped those wilting weeds and strolled down the bend past dozens of houses. 

The moving truck was still sitting outside, sealed shut. You had never had an ounce of confidence but something deep inside of you forced you to walk up to that door. 

It forced you to hit the doorbell. 

It forced you to wait. 

You didn't wait long, less than a minute passed before the door swung open. 

It was her, she looked at you. Her eyes were tender and curious. You held out your hand, unfurrowing your fingers to show a pile of crumpled dandelions. You didn't mean to crush them.

"I picked these for you." You said, trying to hold her gaze but the nerves got the best of you. 

She blushes, cheeks filled with rosy affirmation. She doesn't say thank you, but she doesn't need to. Her eyes did. 

She was mute. But you didn't know that. You weren't much for conversation yourself. 

Then another voice worms its way into your oasis.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" 

It was her father. He was a large man, poorly shaven. His shirt wore stains and his breath wore booze. 

"I'm sorry, I got these for her." 

You tried to sound confident but your voice crumpled. Just like the dandelions that now rest in her hand. 

He laughs. 

Another voice joins the circus, but this one was immediately recognizable.

"What the fuck are you doing out of the house?" 

Your mom had found you. She was drunk and half asleep. Screaming obscenities in her pajamas. 

You look to the girl, you still didn't know her name, you wouldn't.

"I'm sorry, I have to go" 

*** 

Your mother didn't say anything to you. She rarely bothered. The wine and ambien made her agreeable at the very least. It would be quiet night at home. You didn't eat dinner. That was happening more often. 

It wasn't quiet in your head though. Your brain hadn't shut up since you first locked eyes. You don't sleep tonight, or the next night. 

You can only think about her. 

Perhaps that was for the best.

It was only four days later you'd stage your next escape. Your mom was off at aerobics and your dad was nodding off at his computer. 

You took your chance, today you'd see her again, you had to. You put on your shoes as quietly as you can and grab your trusty pocket knife. It had been hidden in the back of your closet for years. You thought about how you would protect her from the coyotes in the woods. 

You ran from the house and back down that street. It was early in the afternoon, the clouds blocked out the sky but no cloud could ever block out the thought of her. 

There was no anxiety this time. You rang the bell and waited. 

She opened the door, the same curious eyes peeked out around the wooden frame. You give her your hand and she takes it. 

"Follow me" you said. 

She obliged. 

And together you ran down the street hand in hand. Her touch was warm in the sweat of your palm. Both of you stuck together. She giggled and in her eyes you saw a new gaze. Light. 

You took her into the woods, never breaking stride. Jumping over fallen trees and weaving around the thick brush.

You took her to a special place. A place you believed to only be known by you and god. You knew no one could bother you here. 

There's a rock perched atop a grassy hill. It peeks just above the tree canopy, you could see for miles. You used to come here to clear your head, it never worked. 

But now your head didn't need to be cleared. You had made all the space for her. 

You collected dozens of dandelions. You were gentle with them. Her cheeks turned rosy as she plucked each one from her palm. She took one and tucked it behind your ear, pushing your hair to the side to get a better look at your eyes. 

Love. You felt it in every inch that separated the two of you. You weren't lost in these woods but you were lost in her gaze.

The sun set gently over the rolling fields in the distance. The air started to cool. She tugs your hand and gives you a quick nod. 

It's time to go home she said, without any words. You understood but didn't want to. 

This was the best day of your life.

****

It was dusk now, the sky was still spattered with orange despite the sun's absence. Something was wrong, the entire neighborhood was out on their porches. They stared as you emerged from the woods, you grabbed her arm and held tight. 

You both walked down the street, there was a bright flashing, more neighbors spilled out into the street.

One man yells, "They're right here!" 

Everyone turned to look at you.

Everyone looked disgusted. 

Her father broke from the crowd and sprinted towards us. He placed a hand on your chest and shoved you away. Your fingers lose her arm. 

"Let go of her, you fucking freak!" He spat. 

"No, please." You pulled on her arm, she let out a squeal. 

He swings a fist into your face. Your teeth clinch down on your tongue, severing the tip and filling your mouth with the taste of iron. 

You stumble back as your vision blurs. She runs to you, she tries to cup your head to break your fall. Her father slaps her, tears welling in her eyes. 

Her eyes, you hadn't seen pain in them. You couldn't bear it. 

You bounced off of the concrete, scrambling to your feet. Your hand fished without thinking and your knife opened just as it entered his stomach. 

He tries to wrestle it away from you, but it only aids in carving up his stomach. A couple of police officers bark orders you can't hear. 

You lift the knife high above his head and drink the fear of his eyes. The fear had always been unsolicited, now you owned it. 

You look to her, one last time. 

Her eyes are just like everyone else's. Her curiosity had turned to fear. 

You took her eyes. 

You didn't mean to crush them. 

Lifetube 

Jeremy is having his Lifetube removed. He looks at me and says, "I'm going to have my Lifetube removed." 

I scoff at him, "scoff!"

He must not have seen my new and improved Lifetube. I bought it on Klarna. You can buy Lifetubes now and pay for them later. Jeremy was always a stubborn rude bastard. 

"You aren't listening to me! I've realized, I don't need a lifetube to live." 

"I don't mean to ignore you, it's just what you're saying is idiotic and unreasonable." 

"Fair enough." 

Jeremy storms off. Fucking moron, he was really going to go through with it. I have to see it happen. 

I know he can't go to the clinic. They'd never remove one of their own Lifetubes. They'd probably just upsell him. Especially since Jeremy is such a sucker. 

So I follow his dumbass. Winding through the copy pasted alleys. Swaths of homeless wriggle around in piles of their own shit. But even they have a lifetube.

He looks left and he looks right before ducking into a greasy old door. The sign up top reads "PAPA CHEWS BBQ. Servin up greasy species." 

Shoulda known Jeremy would be dumb enough to have the procedure done by some hick. 

I step close to the door and rub and tug on my lifetube. It lets me hear them inside. 

"I can assure you the procedure won't be painless. But I envy your courage." 

Who's voice is that? Sounds like some posh asshole. Doubt that's big "papa chew". Probably some snake oil huckster that's gonna take Jeremy's life credits and ground his corpse into sausage. 

"It's not courage. It's something else. I need to know what it feels like to be human, without the interface." 

"Very well. We'll begin shortly." 

Oh blah blah blah blah. This asshole is actually in there blowing himself. Ooo look at me I'm so special and different. 

Different is difficult. Jeremy just wants to be special. Shoulder a burden he brought on himself. There's a reason all the monks are dead. 

I hear the doctor come back in. He huffs and puffs. I turn off the lifetube once the saws start whirring. I just had lunch and the sound was sullying my appetite. 

The alleyway smells like piss. Of course it does. The site of Jeremy's grand sacrifice is covered in piss and cat shit. 

I wait too long outside. An hour might’ve passed, I'm not entirely sure. The new Lifetube has a time skip feature. It also can record video in 32K and has an attachment that'll suck your dick. 

Jeremy doesn't appreciate that, doesn't appreciate anything. Fucking bastard. 

I tune in again, the saw blades have stopped. Sounds like Jeremy is recovering. 

"How do you feel?” Says the snooty ass doctor. 

"I feel, whole." 

Applause breaks out in the room. Oh there's an audience? A whole gaggle of idiots to suck his ego. Well fuck you Jeremy, I've got a lifetube for that. 

"This is the beginning of a new dawn, son. This can change the world." 

Why change it? I love the way it is. I love my mindless remote job. I love my concrete cube apartment. I love instant meals printed in my fridge. I love porn I can inject into my brainstem. 

I love my lifetube.  

I turn the sound off. No way I'm listening to him gloat and self aggrandize. I find a loose brick next to a pile of shit and trash. I lean up against the wall next to the door.

I wait. 

The door opens slowly. I see his feet first. He stomps out into the alleyway and takes a big breath. The first tubeless breath taken in open air in centuries. 

He turns and his eyes catch mine. He's confused, as he should be. 

"Hey man! The procedure went really wel-" 

I swing the brick into his head. It digs a deep pit in the side of his skull. Blood gushes from his eyes and nose. 

I hit him a few more times. My arm doesn't get tired. I paid extra for that. 

He's reduced to a puddle on the sidewalk.

He should have known he couldn't live without a tube.

My cereal has gotten soggy. I use my spoon to push the mush around the bowl.

"Son, I'm telling you it's going to be good for you. It's just for the summer squad, who knows you could really love it!" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

He taps the table, creeping sunlight bouncing off of his state championship rings. All four of them. 

Our mantle is covered in his trophies and accolades. His college jerseys and all conference honors. Between it all is the last photo we took with my mother. 

Football was his first son, one I've been trying not to meet. 

"Well, I've talked to the coach and he's excited to have you on board." 

"I haven't even tried out yet." 

My dad folds his lips, eyes darting everywhere but me. He knows I'm not cut out for it. I probably weigh as much as one of his arms. 

"It's worth a try, that's all I'm asking for." I stare off for a moment, lost in his tapping. "Alright, I've gotta get to work. I've got a sandwich for you in the fridge. Try not to miss the bus again." 

"Okay, thanks. I'll see you tonight." 

"Yeah." 

He pats my shoulder and heads out the door. I finish getting ready and make my way to the bus stop. 

***

It's already hot outside. The Carolina sun wastes no time in cooking the asphalt. I'm the only one at the bus stop, I usually am. Posters litter the wall behind the bench. 

The same faded crinkled paper catches my eye. Missing, Thomas Husker. Tommy. It's already been four years. 

Our dads grew up together. Even though he was older, he never treated me like I was any less. I haven't had a friend like him since.

His dad never seemed right after his disappearance. 

There's a bigger poster that swallows half of Tommy's face. In massive font, "Richland High School football tryouts". Four o'clock sharp, today. 

I look down at my heavy canvas duffel and thermos of water. The bus drives around the corner and the brakes squeal to a stop. I climb in and head off to my last day of 8th grade. 

***

I'm back in my corner of the lunchroom. I shovel the mush of beans and rice into my mouth. There's not that many people here today. 

I'm startled when I hear someone plop down next to me. 

"Hey what's up dude? Pretty sure this spot isn't taken. You cool if I sit here?" 

It's Thad. Richest guy in school. I didn't think he knew I existed, this has to be some kind of prank.

"Uh yeah, sure." 

He pulls out a crinkled brown bag and pulls out a cheeseburger and some fries. He pulls another burger out of the bag and sets it in front of me. I hesitate.

"Here man. You can have this one. My Dad's secretary brings me lunch from the diner every Friday. A lot better than the shit they serve here." He grins as he opens up his food. 

"Oh, thanks. I appreciate it." 

"Of course dude. Was talkin to my pops last night. Your dad says you're going out for the team, you gonna be at the tryouts tonight?" 

I'm already two bites into my burger. Thad's dad owns the car dealership my dad works at. All I can do is nod my head. 

"Sweet dude! No one's beaten your pops in passing yards. I'm stoked to play with you dog!" He goes up for a high five. "Some of the guys are going out after tryouts, you should come along!" 

"Oh yeah, for sure. Don't think my dad would care." 

He chuckles and gets up, taking his burger with him. "You the man!" 

I watch him walk out of the cafeteria. A few people are looking at me now. Five minutes ago I didn't exist, maybe I will like football. 

***

The day goes by quick. Half of my classes don't bother showing up. I'm watching the clock tick closer and closer to the final bell. My foot's tapping. Everyone else is antsy to get out of here. I'm antsy not to. The bell rings and I make my way out into the hall. Everyone's laughing and chatting, I see Thad walking down the hall with a few of his buddies. 

"Yooo what's up man?" He walks up and gives me a high five. "This is our future State Championship quarterback right here fellas!" He throws some light playful jabs into my stomach. 

"Haha we'll see I guess." 

"Hey dude, you aren't taking the bus are you?" His buddies all laugh at the thought. "Nah man come on, unless your pops is picking you up you're riding with us." 

We get outside and his mom is pulled up in a red Mercedes-Benz 560. The engine purrs as I throw my things into the backseat. Everyone's chatting and staring, Thad takes the passenger seat. 

I can't bother hiding my smile. This is the best day of my life. 

***

It's hot. The early summer sand spurs dig into my knees. The massive twenty thousand seat stadium looms over us. There's nearly as many coaches as there are potential players. The oldest of the bunch steps forward. His forehead permanently wrinkled into a sunken scowl. 

Coach Thurman. 

"Good afternoon gentleman. Today you are applying to become Richland history. You are applying to represent the most dominant football program in South Carolina history. 

The Richland Redhawks have won 20 state championships in total and 12 in a row. Remember your father's father and play some damn good ball." 

Thad shoots me a smile from the other side of the huddle. I give him a little wave. The strength coach steps forward blowing a whistle, he's a stocky man built like a bulldog. A vein bulges across his beet red forehead. 

"Alright we gonna be breakin up by position now. Erybody get with ya position coaches." 

I get up while everybody scrambles. I'm half the size of most of the guys out here, I think I should probably find the kicking coach. 

Thad waves me down standing next to Coach Crawford. He's the quarterback coach. I jog across the field and he reaches out to shake my hand. 

"Hey, you're Ben's kid, right? Your dad had a cannon like nobody else." 

Thad nods his head and jogs over to the tight ends.

"Hi coach, it's nice to meet you. I'm not sure I'm really cut out for quarterback." 

He smiles, "nonsense kid, your dad was a monster. I'm sure there's an arm in there." He slaps me on the shoulder. "Go on ahead and get with the others."

***

"Down set set.." 

My hands are dripping with sweat, my wrist is twitching. 

"Set hike!" 

The ball comes flying through the air level with my face. I throw my hands up to protect my nose and it bounces to the ground. 

The wide receiver throws his hands up and breaks his route. 

Coach Crawford blows a whistle. 

"Alright let's run it again! Cmon kid stay focused."

Thad runs up to the front of the line. "Coach C, can I run this route?" 

Coach nods and Thad steps forward. He gives me a short affirming nod.

"Down set, hike!"

I grab the ball out of the air this time, getting good purchase over the stitched leather. 

Thad breaks as fast as he can, down field. 

He's fifteen, twenty, twenty five yards out. I look to the end zone and see my dad standing behind the fence. Tommy’s dad is with him too. He looks worse. Been a ghost since Tommy vanished.

I push it all from my mind, twisting my body and flinging the ball as far as I can. 

It's a beautiful thing, really. There's a moment when the ball reaches the peak of its arc where it stands still high above the field. 

Everyone's watching, mouths slowly falling open. It sails over Thad's shoulder and settles in his arms. 

"Touchdown hahaha! I knew ya had it kid!" Coach Crawford stops the drill. 

Coach Thurman breaks away from the other coaches and walks over to me. I'm celebrating with the other guys on the team, my dad isn't watching. 

He grabs my arm and squeezes it, lifting his hand to rub his fingers across my cheek. 

"You've got a killer arm, son. Your pops will be proud." 

"Thank you, coach."

***

Tryouts fly by after my miracle throw. Coach Crawford told me I'm already on the roster, there's a possibility they'll bring me to varsity my freshman year. 

"We haven't had a freshman quarterback since your pops!" He said, roughing up my hair. 

For the first time in a long time, I'm excited to ride home with my dad. 

Me and a few of the other guys are chatting after practice when my dad walks up. The other guys get a bit starstruck. "Woah dude holy shit Big Ben is your pops?" "It's so nice to meet you sir." "Your dads a legend dude." 

My dad smirks, "Thanks kids. You want an autograph, get your parents to buy a car." 

They all laugh and I say my goodbyes. I climb into my dad's truck. I'm waiting for him to say something, anything. 

He doesn't. 

"Did you see my pass dad?" 

"Sure did son, it was really something." 

His voice is different. His cold confidence has been replaced by something. I look up and see tears crawling down his face. I haven't seen him cry since mom died.

"Dad, is everything alright?" 

"Sure is, son. I'm really proud of you, who you are and what you'll be. I love you son." 

"I love you dad." 

The afternoon humidity is spilling out of the clouds. It's monsooning while the sun still shines.

****

I jog inside to get out of the rain, my dad isn't far behind. Our phone rings before I've gotten both shoes off. I hop over to the phone and pull it off the wall. 

"Hello?" 

"Yooo what's up rock slinger, you dipped quick after practice you good?" I immediately recognize Thad's voice. 

"Oh yeah man, I'm good. What's up?" 

"You still wanna hang out tonight? My older brother’s planning something. It's tradition to throw a big party to honor the incoming freshman. You game?" 

My dad's still shaking water off of him. "Hey Thad, give me one second." 

I hold the phone to my chest and my dad looks up at me, "what is it?"

 "I know it's last minute but Thad invited me over and I was wondering if..."

He cuts me off, "yeah that's alright. I've gotta go anyways." 

"Yooooooo, hellooooooo." Thad's talking to himself over the line. 

"Hey man, my dad said it was cool." 

"Awesome dude, I'll come pick you up in a half hour. Dress sharp." 

He hangs up the phone and I run off to get ready. My closet is filled to the brim with bright tacky t-shirts and cargo shorts. It looks like a kid's closet. 

I push all of the clothes to the side and see my suit sitting in the back. It was the one dad got me for mom's funeral. 

I don't care if it makes me look like a dork. Tonight I become my own man. I'll finally grab my piece. 

I turn into the living room and my dad is about to head out of the door. My sleeves are a bit short and I'm about to give up on the tie. 

My dad walks over, folding it carefully. Looping the knot and pulling it shut.

"You look handsome, son." 

"Thanks dad."

He pulls me in for a hug. "I'm sorry, for everything." 

I don't know how to respond to that. All these years I felt like he was looking straight over me. 

He turns around and heads out the door without saying another word. The house is quiet. Rain patters lightly on the windows.

***

Thad rolls up only a few minutes later. Only, this time his mom isn't with him. He's behind the wheel. 

He rolls down the window and yells out to me. "What's up man, look at you all dressed up. Get your ass in here!" 

I walk over to the passenger side and sink in. "Hey dude, why are you driving? Where's your mom?"

"Chill big dog, I drive all the time." 

"Isn't that illegal?" 

Thad laughs to himself long enough to make me uncomfortable.

"All the sheriff's cars came out of my dad's dealership. We're cool man." 

I laugh a bit too, desperate to snuff out any dead air. "Yeah man. For sure." 

"I'm diggin the suit man. Here, pop this in. My dad loves this album."

He hands me a Johnny Cash cassette and gestures for me to throw it in. Man in Black starts thumping over the car speakers. 

Thad's speeding down the street, ignoring stop signs and spinning around corners. He doesn't say another word. 

We turn hard into his family's neighborhood. The houses immediately grow three times as large. 

Twangy guitar chords bounce around Cash's voice. 

Thad slows down and pulls up to a gate, he hits a code and it slowly creaks open. The driveway is full of cars but the house is dark.

***

We walk to the front door. I was expecting music and lights. If I didn't know any better I'd say no one was home. 

It's almost as if Thad senses my confusion. "Oh everybody's probably around back. I can show you through the house though."

It's massive, alone in a gated private forest, it stands at least 4 stories tall. 

The door is twice my height. I have to lean a bit to budge it open. The entrance is dark, illuminated only by faint flickering lights. Banners, trophies, jerseys, and rings cover every inch of every wall. Team photos are stretched out spanning decades. 

Thad taps me on my shoulder, "Hey man, I've got to go grab something out of my car. I'll be right back, okay?" 

"Yeah, of course." 

He leaves me alone in the wide open entryway. A chain latches from the other side of the door. 

*** 

It's been 10 minutes. The front door is locked. The tall dancing shadows of the trophies grow menacing in this light. 

I need to get out of here. 

There's a long hallway that goes into the east wing of the home. The door to the west wing is locked. 

I make my way down the hall, the walls are still littered with football paraphernalia. Championships won and lost over the decades. 

Then I see him, Thomas Husker. Labeled a "freshman captain." But he never touched the field?

There are four freshman captains. The first one was dated 1975. The beginning of our championship streak. 

The final one was me. A picture I don't remember being taken. There's a thin layer of dust over the frame and I look younger, it's been here for some time. I'm our freshman captain, 1987. They've saved plenty of space next to me. 

Each plaque carries a small inscription. "Four more years." 

What did they do to you Tommy? 

What are they going to do to me? 

***

A door slides open down the hall. Coach Thurman walks out. He's sporting a similar black suit. 

I back away from him.

“Coach? Where is everyone?” 

He steps towards me. “They’re already here.” 

I look at the portrait by my side, “What did you do to Thomas?” 

“He did his part, as will you.”

I turn to run down the hallway but there's dozens of men. I recognize them. 

The mayor, the sheriff, my dad's boss. Thad is standing there next to them. His charismatic golden boy smile has disappeared. He's all business.

“Thad?” 

“Just listen to Coach.”

In the very back, behind a dozen other men, I see my father. His eyes are darting everywhere but me. 

I follow Coach Thurman, the rest of them fill in behind me.

***

The room is massive. Illuminated by a single dying bulb. The yellow lights paint three seated figures. 

Thomas is mostly decomposed. Face rotted beyond recognition. Decomposing tissue dangles from his forehead, held up by tufts of hair. 

My eyes are brought to his chest. It's been mangled into a swollen lump. White stitching weaves over inflated pulsing skin. A beating ball of flesh. I feel every thump through the soles of my shoes. 

Clear tubes push a murky black liquid through the growth. His neck is held upright by crudely cut pipes that rise from the floorboards. 

The other two show no signs of life, both are in an even deeper state of decomposition. 

I vomit through my hands. These are our freshman captains. The heart of the team. The heart of Richland. 

Coach Thurman's voice breaks the rhythmic pumping. "His heart will stop beating any day now. He's given us four state championships. When he stops, the town starves." 

My knees go weak. I stumble back collapsing on the floor. 

"Grab him." A few men scramble to my aid. "No, the father." 

My dad lifts me off the floor and places me into the empty chair. He quints through a stream of wet hot tears. He wipes his face and collects himself. For a moment, I recognize him as my father.

I bite back my own tears. “For football?”

He won't even look me in my eyes, “For tradition.” 

***

I was never special to any of these people. 

At least they made me feel so, for one day. The burger. The Mercedes. My father’s tears. I ate them all. 

The ropes dig into my skin as a rag is wedged into my mouth. 

I bite hard as they peel back my ribs, my heart swells from my chest. Pipes and tubes are shoved into my torso. 

It hurts. It still hurts.

Long after the pain of this flesh has faded. My youth is eaten by an unending hunger. 

The town feeds on my blood.

It hurts.

I spend all day in the sun, but my skin is never kissed by its warmth. It's hard to know how long I've been here, my concrete enclosure has grown less suffocating over the years. 

I clock in every morning at 7:00AM. Work is all I have to look forward to. 

I roll off my cot and splash some water on my face. My brain makes shapes out of the swirling gray concrete while I strain to push out my morning shit. 

A metal tray of incomprehensible slop slides underneath my door and I chow down quickly. My shift starts soon. 

A loud buzz echoes down the hall outside of my steel door. 

The ceiling opens, and a long twisting cord slithers from the opening. It's fangs scared me at first. I used to loathe grabbing the slippery metal coil and jamming the sharp prongs into the back of my skull. 

It used to hurt so bad. Now my head is carved for its utility. It's just buisness. 

I did nothing to earn this sentence, in fact, I asked for it. I'm better off in here than I am out there. 

At least in here I can be somebody. 
 
The wiggling ceiling viper latches hard into my skull, shooting its fluid into my brain. 

My muscles twitch and my mouth fills with the taste of copper. I can feel it working its way though my blood as it cradles my brain.  

I awake in the mouth of my workstation. Towering high above the smiling fields below. I can move my lumbering steel arms, feel them. Same with my legs, the hydraulics kick to life as my tractor wakes up. 

The purplish hue of the new sun tickles my exterior. 

The field stretches on further than my retinal display will allow. I know it's walled, I've checked. 

But it's no matter now, time to get to work. I grab the leviathan of a hose and flip the nozzle. A massive shower of a red viscous fluid. The plants all open themselves wide, sucking the liquid into their toothy maws. 

The ones that haven't yet had their taste scream and ruffle their leaves. Don't worry, you'll get your fill. 

Alittle here, alittle there. Tending to my garden, my beautiful hungry garden. I see the other machines working off in the distance. I give my neighbor a wave and he returns in kind. 

We can't speak. I've always wondered his name. Or her name. Their voice always sounds different in my dreams. 

I wonder what they look like. Or what I look like. After all these years, I don't feel any older.

Only the wrinkles, my hair fell out a long time ago. 

I push on the hose but nothing comes out. I forgot to top it off last night. The plants are screaming for their fill. Begging through squeals and cries, some climb from the roots and split open their brethren just for a morsel. 

I head over to the massive dispenser and drop a new bag of fertilizer, a few plants climb off of the field towards me. 

They're impatient, only been getting hungrier. I try to shoo them back but it's no use, they bite at my feet and it hurts. 

More climb from the field their mangled roots twisting and pulling them forward their bright petals gnashing and snarling. The bravest few climb onto the bag and pick away at it. Ripping away at the thick fabric on top. 

One finally catches a snag and rips a sizeable hole in the bag, unprocessed fertilizer comes pouring out of the bag and the flowers have a feeding frenzy. 

The flowers pick and pull, pools of red saturate the ground below me. 

The fertilizer looks familiar, it looks like me. Or how I remember I did. Hundreds and hundreds of people, cold and unmoving. 

They're already dead. 

Those lucky bastards. 

I swat the plants and pepper some fertilizer out into the field. They run out without another thought. 

I take the bag to the processor, and blend the fertilizer. 

I spend the rest of the day spreading goo across the field. The plants are happy. That's a job well done. 

The sun begins to set and my day ends greeted by the twin moons. They dance as I feel the fangs slip from my skull. I'm nauseous, for only a moment, before I'm back to the familiarity of my box. 

Dinner slides under the door and I eat quickly. After that little mix up at work, I'm exhausted. 

I lay in bed and the lights cut immediately. 

Today I met so many new faces. 

Maybe tonight I'll dream their voices.

Bite 

I'm sitting down on the couch, munching on a big bowl of baby carrots. Happy as a clam dipping them in hidden valley, licking off all the ranch. 

I hear the latch turn over before the front door swings open. My roommate slunks inside. His suitcase looks extra heavy today, eyes weak and tired. He plops down next to me while tossing the suitcase across the room 

I push a sentence through some mushy carrot, "hey, you look like shit. They're working you to death." 

He pushes out a soft laugh. "No, you are. Bumass." 

I put my baby carrots on the coffee table. "Hey man, it's not my fault your pops fired me." 

He rubs his forehead. "Yeah, it is." 

There's a stiff silence that gobbles up the room. He's been different ever since they gave him that promotion. I just assumed it was chronic daddy issues paying dividends. Working for the man you hate, and all that. 

I kick some phlegm out of my throat. "Whatever, dude. You're making more money than God. You could afford rent 15 times over. What're you crying about?" 

"Crying? You haven't even looked for a job. You'd be dead in the street without me." 

"Then why keep me around?" 

"Good point." 

He looks at the coffee table. There's still a half dozen wet lil baby carrots sliding around the bowl.

My roommate smiles, I haven't seen him do that in a while. 

"I know how you can earn rent." 

I grab the bowl of carrots, he's still staring at them. I pop one in my mouth. "Oh yeah? Whatcha thinkin?"

"I've heard, when you bite a carrot, it takes the same amount of force as biting off a human finger." 

*CRUNCH* The baby carrot feels wrong in my mouth. "Yeah? What're you getting at?" 

"I want to know. Bite off your pinky, and your rent's paid." 

Damn that's funny. "Haha good one dude. Seriously though, I'll get a job." 

He doesn't budge though, that little grin is gone. "I'm serious." 

"Oh right, I bet you are." 

"Bite off your pinky, and your rents paid, for life."

For life? My roommate may be a creepy shut in loser asshole, but he's never once lied to me. I haven't paid rent in three months. 

"Man, what the fuck. Why would you-"

He cuts me off. "Face it. You don't want to work. You don't want a job. I'll pay your rent for the rest of your life, however pathetic and miserable it is. But if I'm going to do that, I want something in return." He puts a hand on top of mine. "I want your pinkie." 

He's right. 

He did all my assignments in college, and I still flunked. 

I didn't bother showing up to class. I didn't bother showing up to the job his dad gave me either. I didn't bother with sitting at a desk clicking a keyboard. I didn't bother trying. 

I don't.

Now I won't have to. Just one moment of discomfort, one baby carrot. 

"Okay. Okay man I'll do it." 

The smile creeps back. "Good." 

I put my littlest finger in my mouth. My hands are shaking violently. My soft skin rubs against the grooves of my teeth. I push lightly at first. 

The pain comes quickly. Shooting down my hand causing my arm to spasm. My mouth fills with the taste of wet iron. 

I pull my hand away, blood slings onto the carpet. 

"God dammit, I can't do it." 

I wrap my shirt around my mangled pinkie. I can feel my heart beating through the fresh wound. 

"Aw darn. Then get out." 

"And go where?" 

"Not my problem." 

Without thinking, my pinkie is back in my mouth. I've got a good grip on it between both of my molars. 

Every instinct screams at me not to, but I clinch my jaw as hard as I can. Hot piercing pain shoots down my arm and up my spine. Crushed bone pierces my nerves and skin. My cheeks fill with the flavor of my own blood. 

I unclench my jaw, and my pinkie is completely limp. I can't move it but it's still loosely attached by shredded skin. I chomp down again, and again.

Adrenaline takes over and I thrash my teeth, pulling skin off of the new nub on my hand. 

Then I feel it, floating in my cheek. 

I successfully severed the finger. I cough it up onto the couch, watching it flop as tears stream from my eyes. 

My roommate is laughing. Laughing so hard the veins in his neck are straining. Never seen him this happy. 

"I can't believe you actually did it! You're so pathetic you'd rather destroy yourself than go flip a few fucking patties!" 

I have nothing to say to him. He's right. He always is. My heart is still beating where my finger used to be. 

My roommate slides closer to me on the couch, putting a hand on my shoulder. 

"Wanna talk about a meal plan?" 

Every day is exactly the same. 

I wake up.

Take a shower. 

Get dressed.

Skip breakfast.

Drive to work.

Drive home.

Microwave dinner. 

Crash. 

Repeat.

I work five days a week, alone in my office. 
There are other people here, but they aren't. 
Not really.

Placid smiles and quick glances. 

Dozens alone together. 

I know all of their names but I rarely hear mine. 

I have a boss, but I haven't met him. We never discussed my duties. He never bothers me about performance. But every time I see his email pop up it fills me with dread.

The notification on my monitor shows an incoming call. I rub my temples and throw on my headset. 

"Bureau of Ecological Management, this is Chuck, how can I help you?" 

An old voice croaks over the phone. 

"Hey yeah uh, I hope I've got the right number. I'm trying to get a copy of the deed to my property. Is this the place to call?"

"Sorry sir, you would do that with the county. I can transfer you if you'd like?" 

"Yeah sure, thanks."  

I flip my stack of sticky notes. County office, there it is. I plug in the number and send him on his way. 

Repeat.

Repeat until my eyes are bloodshot.

Repeat until my head aches. 

So much is the same. 

I pray every night for something to give. 

***

The sun beats my eyes in. I'm awake well past the birds. 

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

I overslept. 

I throw the covers off of me and scramble across my apartment. 

Shower, deodorant, crinkled up khakis, polo that didn't dry all the way. I'm barely together before I'm out the door. 

The apartment complex is still. I hear the birds chirping in the warm morning air, but nobody else is heading to work. I am two hours late. 

The engine kicks in my shitty little Honda and I fly out of the parking lot, grazing a curb and sending me into a bounce. 

I'm too late to be careful. I'm just waiting to see my manager pop up on my phone. But he doesn't. 

This morning was different. The traffic's thin. It's nonexistent.

I stop at a red light. A little cafe has a glowing open sign while a sprinkler drizzles the lawn. The gas prices have changed from yesterday. It's up 20 cents. 

Still, I am entirely alone in the street. The light turns green and I start down the road. I didn't bother stopping at the others.

**** 

Our receptionist is out today. I can't help but laugh. 

I step into the elevator and punch in my floor. The strained mechanics groan. The mirror walls show me someone I don't recognize. 

I can hardly contain my joy as the elevator opens to an empty lobby. Papers left just how they were yesterday. I smell coffee brewing but there's no one to drink it. 

Maybe god put on a pot to celebrate the first good day I've had in years. 

Finally, I'm completely alone. 

My prayers have been answered.

I skip across the lobby to my cubicle. Papers and sticky notes are strewn about. There's piles of loose mail and granola bar wrappers.

My chair is worn at the arms, one of the wheels sits at an odd angle. The plastic has warped from years of pressure and neglect. I run my fingers across the ripped faux leather. It did its job for so many years, but now it doesn't need to. 

I lift the chair over my head and slam it down onto my desk. The computer monitors shatter into rainbows of panicked light. The loose wheel flies out into the lobby. I slam the chair again, 

and again 

and again.

Tears welling in my eyes, I yell into the comforting abyss. 

Finally alone. 

Finally free. 

I throw the chair as hard as I can into the lobby. Rubber and plastic scraps skid across the floor. The break room fridge is always stocked. I've always wanted to try the blueberry pomegranate bubly.

I crack it open and pull on the door with all of my strength. The fridge falls from the wall into a heap on the floor. I kick the water cooler over and watch as the water soaks into all of my coworkers' food. 

I raid all my coworkers' desks. One drawer was filled to the brim with mini-bottles.

Crack. 

Crack.

Crack. 

Drink. 

Drink.

Drink. 

Fuck it. 

I find a lighter next to a pack of smokes and hold it to the cubicles. It doesn't take long for them to be engulfed in flames. 

I sit for a moment, admiring my handiwork. The office has never looked so fitting. 

I'm not allowed to enjoy it. 

I was never meant to. 

*bzzzzzt bzzzzzt bzzzzt bzzzzt* 

My phone's ringing. 

No, no that's not possible. 

Why now? 

I fish it from my pocket.

It's my boss.

I shrink into nothing.

I try to hang up but it won't. 

I try to send it to voicemail but I can't. 

I answer.

"Chuck?" 

I try to respond but I can't. The dryness in my throat catches the words.

"Are 
you 
proud 
of 
yourself?" 

I think for an eternity. The smoke alarms pound my ears. The chirping battles the faint sound of yelling. My vision swims while the flames get brighter. 

"No sir." 

The noise is deafening. Sirens, yelling, screaming, chirping.

"Good."

***

I look up to see all of my coworkers. Their expressions are a mix of terror and pity. 

A couple of officers walk over to place me in cuffs while I'm drenched by the overhead sprinkler . 

Their eyes dig deep past my skin. All these years and they're seeing me for the first time.

I can't believe this shit. I've been a free man for two weeks and I'm already back in it. Out in the dead of night with a pair of bolt cutters and a backpack full of pot.

"Won't you hurry it the fuck up? Yous actin like we got all night."

The sweat on my hands makes it tough to grip the handles.

"Jesus, I'm tryin the best I can, man." 

"Best I can, maaan," he says, mocking my voice. "Just crack the fuckin door." 

I feel the chain give with a loud thunk. It slinks its way to the ground. I look up, there's a little red light bleeding through the bricks.

"Finally got it open. Keep it movin, you oogatz." 

The alleyway is covered in shit and trash. Mosquitos buzz in the summer humidity. I thought prison was hell. I'd yet to have seen New Jersey. 

***

My partner and I make our way inside. The door leads to a corner of the lobby. It's a movie theater. A big one, too.

It's bright, surprisingly so. The bulbs that still work coat the fading carpet with yellow light. 

"City’s still wastin juice on this place? Been closed nearly a decade." 

Dust wafts across the carpet with each of our steps. I've never been to a theater this big, dozens of halls spit into rows of theaters. A soft static leaks from speakers around the counter. It sounds like a radio that gave up a long time ago.

"Hey!" He snaps his fingers in my face. "Let's go junky, I'm just here to make sure you don't smoke the backpack." 

"10 pounds would take me a while. I'm just here for the cash, the shit y'all smoke here is dirt anyways." 

"Aight, easy California."

The concession counter is in disarray, popcorn buckets and drink cups lay scattered along the floor. The red ropes of the queue are tangled in knots. 

A light flickers from deep inside the kitchen. I swear I can see something move. 

"Woah, you see that?" 

My partner’s pacing. "See what, a fuckin fairy? You pot heads are somethin else."

“You have a problem with me or something?”

"Problem? My only problem is gettin stuck doin drops with some lowlife that's been here a week. I don't deal with addicts." 

"But you'll deal to addicts?" 

He gets up in my face. His breath smells like cheap liquor and newports. "There's a difference between raking bread and breaking bread, hippie," he shoves me back. "We just need to drop the sack in theater twelve and get the fuck outa here." 

***

The hallways are massive, rows of posters are torn and faded. 

The dust is oppressive. It coats everything from the bottom of the wall to the corners of the ceiling. Weirdly enough, there's none in the middle of the carpet. 

My partner speeds down the hall. He doesn't even bother to check if I'm still behind him. Fine by me, I'm just glad he decided to shut his mouth. 

We pass theater nine, then ten. Theater eleven is shackled and bolted from the outside. But, there's no theater twelve.

Ten, eleven, thirteen, fourteen. Our drop location doesn't exist. My partner puts his finger up to his lips and shushes me.

The music is soft at first. It's the kind they'd play just before a screening was about to start. Gentle, melodic, and simple. 

A soft glow peeks around the corner, seeping out from the cracked door. There's the light flicker of a waking projector. Someone's inside of theater thirteen. My partner gestures for me to go through.

"I-I don't know man, I didn't sign up for this." 

The music swells, spilling deeper into the hallway. We stand for a few tense moments. 

"Sorry chief, ain't about what you signed up for." 

He opens the door and beckons me through. As soon as I'm inside he slams it shut.

***

I lunge back to the door to hear a key turn over. I start banging.

"Hey! Fucking burnout asshole, open the damn door!" 

He doesn't respond. I can barely hear his footsteps disappear in the direction we came. The music cuts to a rolling wave of static. The same that followed me through the lobby, just much louder now. 

What the fuck is this? Why the hell did I take this gig? 

Flown out across the country just to drop some weed in a shitty run-down movie theater. 

It was always too good to be true. 

The red glow of the exit sign marks the end of the hall. I've just got to make it to the front. 

The white light snaps, there's darkness for a second. Then the entire theater is bathed in a solid wall of vibrant pink. 

There's no dust, this path is well used. The air is freezing cold. My head aches from the violent noise and light. 

I try the door expecting the worst. 

It won't budge. 

I turn to face the theater. 

Underneath the projector sits a full row of businessmen. They're wearing pig masks. Not a crinkle in their suits. 

The light reflects the pits of their eyes. 

A rolling camera rests just below them. 

"H-hello? I have the drugs, if that's what this is about." 

I toss the bag forward. It clatters against a large fence that separates us. None of them flinch. 

I question if they're even alive. 

A voice rings out from behind the camera as the red rec light comes to life. 

"ACTION!"

The exit door swings open. A pale man is shoved out from the darkness. His whole body turns a stark pink in the projected light. 

His face, he doesn't have one.

Molten wax covers almost his entire head, sparing a tube where his mouth should be. 

He lurches into the open theater, hands welded at the wrist. It looks as if they had melted his skin and forced them to heal together. A sharp hunk of jagged metal protrudes from his misshapen flesh. 

"Hey I-i was just hired to do a drop! Whatever debt I've got I promise I'll pay it! Jesus Christ, just get me the fuck out of here are you listening?!"

I'm only greeted by the blinking light of the camera. 

The man swings the blade towards me, it clatters against the fence and swipes down my cheek. I taste hot iron as my own blood leaks into my mouth.

There's no bargaining. No deal. 

Only survival. 

I lower my shoulder and throw myself into him. He tumbles into the fence, gurgling and thrashing at me. 

He slices deep into my thigh, splitting it open as pain shoots across my entire body. 

While he's at an angle, I use my other leg to stomp his shin as hard as I can. The bone shatters instantly. 

White splinters pierce his skin and splatter the carpet with blood. 

He falls forward onto the jagged scrap. It embeds itself deep into his chest. Blood pools beneath him as his breathing slows. 

The room is silent other than the static. 

"CUT!" 

All of the pig masks stand in unison. They break into thunderous applause. They whistle and cheer as I fall to the ground in exhaustion. 

I push my hands onto the massive wound on my leg. It does nothing to stop the bleeding.

A lone figure stands in front of the crowd. His mask is different from the others. 

A gray wolf. 

He bows to the pigs behind them as they bathe him in praise. 

My vision starts to blur. He steps down the aisle staring down at me and the fresh corpse.

“Now that, ladies and gentlemen, was acting! A star is born!”

He opens a gate and I try to crawl away from him. My arms fail.

He gets down on a knee to caress the side of my head. His thick calloused fingers get caught in my sweaty hair. 

"Shhhh, it's okay, son. Welcome to show business!”

I haven't seen his eyes light up like this in years. Not since his mom left. 

The wet slab of meat wiggles and squeaks in his hands. Light glistens across its slime. 

"Thanks so much Pa! I can't believe I actually got one, a real MeatBuddy!"

He holds the thing like it's his baby.

"Just not on the bed, okay? Detergent's expensive." 

"Don't worry, I'll be good!" 

He smiles as the thing nuzzles up against his nose. I squirm a bit. 

It's unsettling.

But it was $5 on sale, and the commercials make it seem like everyone's got one. He's a lonely kid, he deserves a buddy. Even if it is a MeatBuddy.

***

I'm happy to see him happy. 

Things have been hard lately. I've been out of work for a couple of months now. Everyone has. 

I can hear him laughing and whispering to it. 

I hate to admit it; I'm getting jealous of the thing. My son had trouble making friends, even before things got bad. That made me his best friend.

I gently knock on his bedroom door.

"Come in!" I push the door open. "Are you okay Pa?"

My eyes trail to the MeatBuddy. It's in the corner, breathing heavily. Thick red liquid leaks from its many wrinkles. 

"Pa?" 

I snap back to my son.

"Oh yeah, sorry. It's messy in here, think you can clean up a bit?"

"Sure! I'm sorry, we've been playing." 

The MeatBuddy coughs up a little ping pong ball and my son catches it. He giggles and the thing squeaks in affirmation.

"I'm uh- going to go out and grab something to eat. Are you going to be alright? Shouldn't even be an hour." 

"Sure thing, I'll be okay!" 

The MeatBuddy watches me as I shut the door.

***

I turn the key three times before my old shitbox kicks to life. The roads are less busy each time I go out. Weeds grow out of the deep potholes. 

The factories closed and sucked the life out of this place. Everything is falling apart. Amidst the rubble, the bright lights of the Mondo Mart still shimmer in the distance.

I pull my car around the back by the dumpsters. I'm not the only one, dozens of others mill about the heaps of rotting garbage. An elderly man is elbow deep when he pulls out a box of pasta. 

A younger guy next to me wrestles the box from him and knocks him onto the concrete. He seizes on the ground while others step over him to take his place. 

No hope for this one, not today. I'll pick some henbit and dandelions. "Grass soup" the kid calls it. Anything is better than nothing.

***

The house is quiet. I drop my keys onto the kitchen table and set down my pile of foraged greens. 

"Son?" 

No answer. 

The air is heavy, humid.

"Son? Are you alright?" 

I step towards his bedroom, the door is shut. A red liquid seeps from underneath the door. 

"Paa." The response sounds like it's being pushed through an inch of mud. Guttural and deepened by phlegm. "Pa. We're in here!" 

I put my hand to the doorknob. It's warm to the touch. 

What's left of my son is sprawled on the bed. 

Wet pulsing meat wraps around his torso, melding itself to his skin. Translucent veins pump a dark red liquid into his head. My boy’s face juts out from the cocoon of writhing flesh.  

"S-son?" 

"It doesn't hurt anymore Pa. I'm not hungry anymore." 

I slip backwards onto my hands. I'm instantly coated in the sticky mucus. I slide around on the floor trying to get up, the breathing pile of tissue starts sliding itself off of the bed.

I bolt into the kitchen and grab the landline. My fingers slip over the buttons as I dial 911. The phone rings a couple of times before I'm greeted by an automated message. 

"Due to increased demand, we are unable to offer emergency assistance. Thank you for your understanding." 

The swollen heap of meat crawls out from my son's bedroom. My boy's mouth is twisted into an impossible smile. 

I see the MeatBuddy box on top of a pile of garbage. 1(800)LUV-MEAT, I type the number as quickly as I can. It's ringing.

The meat hoists its body vertically, twisting to hold my son on its back. A deep maw opens showing dozens of rows of razor sharp teeth. It hisses at me. 

"Thank you for calling MeatBuddy customer support. This is Erica, how can I help you today?" 

I look over to the empty pantry and throw myself inside of it. The phone cord barely reaches. 

"You've gotta fucking help me. I-I don't know what's going on." 

"Sir, please refrain from swearing. This call may be monitored for training purposes." 

A deafening thud hits the other side of the door. The wood begins to splinter as it presses into my chest. 

"It ate him. It ate my son. I don't know how it happened but when I got home-" 

She cuts me off. "I'm sorry you're experiencing an unfortunate circumstance. Let me see what I can do."

Living ooze seeps underneath the door and claws at my boots.

"Pa? Come outside. Mom's waiting for you. We miss you.” 

I can hear Erica typing before letting out a tired sigh. 

"Once a buddy has been bonded, it is no longer our responsibility. 

As outlined in our consumer agreement. 

No returns. No refunds."

The ground weeps upon our arrival. 

The stench is made bearable by the flowers pressed into the front of my mask. There were twelve of us in the beginning, now there are five.

"Make haste young men, we haven't an hour to the summit." 

Our captain's voice hasn't once wavered.

I know the summit is a lie. There are no mountains here. Plains stretch beyond sight in a meeting sea of black and green. Thick fumes imbue our skin with the stench of rot. 

"Sire, I can't." 

He was not allowed a final statement. The captain slashes the man's throat turning the black dirt to a deep garnet. 

"Final word befitting a coward, continue men." 

Now there are four. I haven't known any of their names. I only know that my lips are best sealed. I will carry my complaints to exhaustion. Though, I'm sure he had done the same.  

***

Gaps as wide as my foot crackle with glowing green ooze. The blood weeping from the sores on my feet doesn't show through my black boots. 

The man ahead of me stumbles forward. His leg wedges into a tight gap, burying him ankle deep in the toxic swill. He screams, sound fleeting absent of an echo.

"Walk," our captain orders. 

The man stifles his screams, he spasms as exposed bone rubs the ground beneath him. 

"Get up and walk." 

I step over to try and help him. 

"No, he does it alone or doesn't do it at all." 

The festering wound has turned to a sickly shade of green. He's been tainted by this place, the effect is irreversible.

I'd imagine he'd scream if he were able. Pained gurgling as his skin melts out from the seams of his robes. The smell pierces the posies. Our captain stands with his sword drawn. 

He doesn't strike. He allows the suffering. 

We stand in silence as the twitching yields.

Now there are three. 

***

"There, where our eyes meet the horizon!" 

Our captain starts jogging ahead of us. 

"Hurry men. It's truly here, I've done it haha!" 

He's skipping. There's a bounce to his voice that’s entirely alien. He's joyful. 

I see it too, off in the horizon. A space where the forces of this world were absent.

Our captain sprints across the ground, leaping over growing streams in chase of the summit. 

The ground shakes violently. Ruptures deep within the earth send us to the ground.

"They've seen us! They've seen us already!" 

Three megalithic spires of black pierce the earth ahead. Ghostly monoliths constructed of material absent of logic. 

Stark white faces solidify on the towering entities. They melt and reform like the wax of a candle. Their expressions hold a malefic sorrow. 

The captain falls to his knees. 

"Oh spirits of the almighty, I heed your counsel and wisdom. Man is in great peril." 

The structures stand idle. Faces contorting as their vacuous eyes peer far beyond us. 

"Grant me the power, your majesties. Grant me your power to save man!" 

The largest of the figures glides forward across the barren expanse.

It leans over us, examining the captain like we would an ant. It's as if our presence is simply a novelty. 

"I've brought you two sacrifices. Two of my best men. Please accept their lives as tribute!”

I look to the man on the ground next to me. His gaze is lost in the dark holes of his mask. 

The ground quakes once more, sending the captain into a gushing flurry of toxic bile. The liquid holds him in the air, consuming his flesh and dissolving him completely. 

The same happens to the man on my right. I watch him thrash violently for only a few moments before he too is entirely consumed. 

The quakes cease and the men join the streams.

I'm alone now, the other spires have joined the first. I'm completely exposed to their vacant eyes. 

They start as barely audible whispers in the back of my mind. I try my best to make out what they say. 

"Meager scribe." 

"He is pathetic." 

"Too weak." 

"Too weak for pride." 

I feel the cacophony of whispers creep up my spine.

"Two sacrifices is never enough." 

"We're so hungry." 

"I'm starving." 

"Eat the scribe." 

"We can't." 

My head is pounding. The pain disappears from the rest of my body. 

"Listen closely." 

"You must bring us 1,000." 

"Bring us hundreds." 

"It's the only way." 

"The pestilence will grow otherwise." 

The twisting green of the sky pulls the last of my sight. I pass out pressed firmly into the soil.

*** 

I wake in my chamber. Stirred by the commotion around me. I’ve lived this morning before.

The expedition leaves tomorrow. 

You guys seein this shit? Guy posts some truth nukes n Reddit done gone and struck em.

It's got me thankin, and I ain't too much for thankin.

I thought the moon stuff coulda happened maybe, but now? All I see is a big white ball of BULLSHIET.

I been through the American educashun system and I been edjudicated all my life. But I'm thankin freethinker22 been thankin so hard that we should be thankin more about this bone thang.

I aint member how many bones they told me but it ain't no 206 I tell you what. Fancy school sayin fancy bullshit bout all the fake fancy bones.

So me and this bottle of Tennessee sunshine gonna get to the bottom of it.

I gots 4 bones right now an figured I'm bout halfway there. Hurts like a bitch but I'll eat som pain for sciense.

Y'all stay in touch now. I try to keep y'all up to date n such.

Man is a petulant sort. Long has it queried on an image of a god they supposedly resemble. No, man is not made in the image of god. 

I am certain, I have painted it. 

I know the world is not yet prepared to heed my message. That's why you will find this letter underneath my bloodied corpse. 

Surrounded by bottles, I have devoted myself to the craft that brings about my destruction. Toiling in isolation, my only companions are heralds of the night. My brain hosts a parasite. Man can never imitate the image of god, nor comprehend it.

Its form is an adversary to cognition. I have known it in some sense all my life. 

***

I was eccentric in my youth. Our family's wealth afforded me the ability to be so. Strange by all accounts, but my family saw no issue as my creativity never dipped into the macabre. 

I sleepwalked out of my room and roamed the estate some nights. I'd lie upon the grass alongside the early morning dew, waking in front of the pond that marked the front of our property. 

Most times I remembered nothing, it was infrequent at first. As I grew so did the compulsion. The dreams, the dreams began around this time. 

I'd see the glowing blue of the pond radiating from my window. Its pull was seductive. Within these dreams I'd see the stars bounce down from the sky and arrange themselves, intricate glyphs depicting animals and plants. I would sit for an unending quantity of time, the air would lift me well above the pond to gaze upon the dancing lights. 

I'd wake soaking wet. Small stones from around the property would be aligned as one of these images. The first was a flower, then a tree, a pig, a cow, a chicken, it became a local phenomenon. 

People were astonished by the result. Our groundskeeper wouldn't dare touch them. Over the years I built a vast garden across the estate. 

People would camp to watch me mindlessly place stones. There were surely copycats who would attempt something similar, but no one could match my efficiency. I never misplaced a stone.

I am disgusted in how I relished in the attention. I lied deeply about my motivations and inspiration. I did nothing, it did. 

I miss those quaint glyphs. It spoke simply at first. 

***

I skipped out on the socialization that would have been afforded by an education. I of course knew the rudimentary sciences as well as reading and writing, my aunt saw to it I learned such things. I was by all definitions, living the life of an artistic prodigy. I had no more need to litter the lawn with pebbles, most of the area was already covered. I'd instead spend my time in a lavish studio financed by my father.

Every pigment, parchment, and brush one could wish for was at my disposal. I would lock myself away in the studio at night, I would tell others that I simply worked best accompanied by moonlight. Still, I was a fraud. I would wait till the sultry embrace of sleep to take me before creating a vibrant masterpiece. The canvas would be painted meticulously by my unconscious hand. 

The colors swirled in alien patterns, harsh geometric cuts bled with the twirling colors. People were astonished, there was a profound structure to the nonsense. It was as if the paintings spoke the language of reason itself. I began a genre all my own. Critics would sit within dictionaries trying to find the language to explain it. No one could, and they would look to me. 

I was a merchant in tall tales. Expressions of natural beauty, surrealist depictions of universes, I would tell them whatever I could. 

I knew these paintings to be the voice of God. My dreams showed me. 

One dream in particular haunted my early career. I'd be plucked up from my chair where I slept, and pulled from the window and out over the sky. 

The stars would shift and encase me completely. The light was piercingly strong, winds like a hurricane enveloped my body. The lights would flash impossibly fast colors both known and unknown. They'd press into me, restricting me far above the ground and estate. I felt, incubated. My brain and being were placed inside of an egg, I began to loathe this place, waking up exhausted with violent headaches.

I was being prepared for something. I then was too naive to see the true scope of its nature. 

***

My career reached its apex only a year ago. The exact time has become fuzzy in my memory. I was enjoying the prestige my work had afforded. I spoke at many universities and brushed shoulders with the brightest minds of my time. I never found paradise in my fraud, I had yet to receive the full gift that had created me a legacy. 

It started again in my dreams. The dazzling colors and floating serenity had yielded to a nightly prison. Night over night I sink into my mattress, enveloped by a void. My senses are completely absent from me. I feel nothing but the pressure of its presence. My hands and body disappear, my spirit is thrust into the lap of the coldest certainty a man has known. 

My art became strange. The colors danced and swirled no longer. The images, benign at a brief glance, inflicted agony. Like the brush had peeled back a layer of human consciousness, they made me angry as well. 

I was mortified, but given the strict deadlines set for myself, I apprehensively shared this work with a few of my contemporaries. They were all mortified in equal measure, a few quit painting. 

Word spread quickly through the art institutions. The critics, once breathless in their praise, found innumerable words to issue their disgust. 

Overnight, I had become a pariah. My only peer henceforth has been the bottle. I could only find rest underneath liquor. My nightly prison sentences grew longer and longer. Now each feels like a century. I come to understand it more clearly every minute which passes in that pit of eternity. 

That was until last night, my final painting. I awoke where I always do, slumped over in my chair in front of a freshly painted canvas. 

I had succeeded in the only mission ordained to me. I had painted it. Its divine indifference brought to this world for the first time by my fingers. 

I hate it, it mocks me. A puppet I've always been, drunk on my own prestige. I was never more than its vessel, set to languish upon this rock as a lone herald. I'm no man at all.

The canvas rests in front of me; I despise its existence. I dig my nails deep into my skin. It's a vain attempt to feel.

My bottle is nearing empty, I know it is not enough to take me. 

It will kill me tonight, I mustn't lose my humanity. I will exercise the only agency I have ever exhibited.

I can only pray that I will not dream.