A few days ago, I spent the whole day making new header images for the website. You have no idea how much work went into these. Blood, sweat, and pixels. Maybe actual blood. (Hard to tell anymore.) But I think you’ll love them. They’re sleek. They’re eerie. They're diverse! I tried to include as many types of people from every spectrum of this reality or any other as I could think to include. Best part is most of them are queer! (LGBTQIA+ for you people who love specifics...that's the word I like and choose to use for all of us. If that bothers you there's probably another horror writer out there who writes mostly about queer people and gives away all of his content for free. Have fun looking for them.) Anyway---these headers! They scream inclusivity. Or maybe that was the cryptids screaming? --- I lost track of what was making noise around hour six.
After working that day, hunger finally got the best of me. The greasy, farting cryptids became dinner. I’d like to say I hesitated, but survival overrides morality. They tasted like deep---fried marshmallows soaked in bone broth, with the texture of perfectly seared scallops.
I have no idea what part of them I ate, exactly. They don’t seem to have real anatomy—just fur, teeth, and the occasional unnecessary nipple.
But hunger overrides morality, and I have no regrets.
Well, one regret: they scream. Loudly. Like a chorus of broken flutes shoved into a garbage disposal. I’ll be haunted by that sound forever.
I like being haunted.
That night, I wandered the desert after dark until I came upon a whole colony of those little delicious fuckin’ things.
Then they were gone
Every last one.
It was a feast, a massacre, a beautiful, greasy buffet of despair. I don’t know what purpose they served in the ecosystem, but it doesn’t matter because their purpose now is to be consumed.
I will eat every last one of these fuckers. Mark my words.
Their little bones crunched like popcorn shrimp. Their meat melted in my mouth like slow-roasted sin. And when I was done, I took their teeth and made myself a necklace, because I am a goddamn artisan craftsman.
It's super cute. Your dad would love it. Tell him to call me. I miss him.
I miss everyone there now that I'm here.
Not Flyman though---remember him? The man with wings and a fly’s head? I don't miss him here. He's the only one here, I saw him again. He was out there, walking in that long, lurching way he does. I looked at him. He looked at me. Or he looked at everything. Hard to tell with all those compound eyes. I felt something pass between us, something unspoken, something feral and frail.
I wanted to undress---reveal myself to him, but that felt wildly inappropriate so I kept the thought in my head where such things make so, so, so much noise.
Anyway, can’t wait for you all to see the new headers. They're up there. At the top. On this page.
Between my indulgent meals the next day I tried to work. I poured hours into the website only for a crucial file to corrupt. Everything I’d built vanished into the void. I stared at the screen, hollow and defeated.Â
I sat in the cave, staring at the screen, and cried. Then I overwrote everything I’d done with a three-day-old backup and contemplated the weight of my own existence. That’s when I noticed I’d been braiding my own veins.
Not metaphorically.
My forearm was split open, tendons carefully knotted into a lovely little fishtail pattern, blood pooling at my feet like I was some kind of macabre Etsy vendor crafting horrors to sell at the marketplace. And the worst part? I didn’t remember starting to do it. Que será, será.
I used the fur from the farting cryptid to staunch the wound. Turns out their hair is pretty absorbent. I saved its bones, too, so I could put it back together like a little puzzle—because apparently, that’s just who I am now.
If someone’s pretending to be me back in Dimension A, I sincerely hope they’re taking notes. I have a reputation to maintain, and if they ruin it, I will be back. Eventually. And I will not be coming back happy.
So yeah. That’s where I’m at mentally.
Anyway, I’m going out to find more of those crunchy things.Â
Yes I have eaten today.
I must eat every day.
The ones I find tonight will probably not be for tonight. They'll be for tomorrow.
Probably.
