Click Here to Read From Short Stories About You
It is impossible, the thing you are seeing, and when you try to scream or call out to Tony for help, nothing comes out. The man is also quiet, making no sound as whatever it is that lives inside him pushes its way out, out of some kind of nightmare world in to this one. Then the man has three eyes: the two in his head and the one staring at you through the jagged gap in his neck, where his artery should be. It gazes at you, diamond-shaped pupil of the purest black, surrounded by an iris of all the colors in all the worlds, a kaleidoscope of knowledge encircling that black jewel of hatred, looking upon this place, this Earth, from a new perspective. It looks at you like it knows you.
Does it know you? Could it possibly recognize you, the same way a great-grandfather recognizes his great-grandchild, picks out the family resemblance, understands intuitively that somehow, that child is his?
Two eyes are poking out of the man’s neck now, and you believe he is smiling. He’s done it. He’s shown you his real self, his true face.
Fuck your years of training, fuck everything they taught you to believe, everything they told you was true about life and science and evolution and how you got here and what you’re supposed to doing.
You actually feel a small “pop” when your mind breaks, a subtle shift in the skull, the slight separation of hemispheres.
As the creature grows and continues to climb out of its host into the room, you can’t stop gazing into those cold reptile eyes, the eyes of something old and evil, something that refused to evolve or die off like it should. You feel that hate that keeps it alive. You burn with the hunger it feels, to be warm again, to rule again, feeding and feasting, culling the herd as it did when it roamed freely and was worshipped as a god.
You begin laughing. You can’t help it. Everything is starting to make sense now. Religion, government, medicine, it’s all wrong. Those things are simply human constructs. Everything you were taught or compelled to believe in is designed to hide people from the ultimate truth. You want to see more, you need to see more of this thing, this genesis of everything, but your eyes are in the way. They don’t do enough, can’t open wide enough, can’t see far enough into the past to give you the vision your brain now desires.
Fumbling about in your coat pocket, you find the syringe, the one you had previously threatened the man with. The man. The messiah. The one who opened your mind. You love him. You love him for showing you the way, the truth and the life. You squirt the water out of the syringe onto the floor. Even if it had been truth serum, it wouldn’t have given you the kind of enlightenment you’ve received now.
You jab the syringe into your left eye. The nerve endings in your cornea scream with pain at the puncture. Agony means nothing to you now. It feels like adoration. Laughing even harder, you pull the plunger down on the syringe. The fluid in your eye begins draining down into the clear plastic cylinder. You remember the medical name for eye juice: aqueous humor. Good thing you’re laughing. You can feel your eye deflating, your vision dims. You’ll never watch a 3-D movie again, you think.
It’s all right, though, you think. The things you know now, the things you’ve seen, the expansion your mind has undergone! What are you now?
What are you becoming?
You plunge the needle into your right eye. It pops like a water balloon filled with lube. You have to stop seeing in order to see. As sight fades, you take one more look at the man in the chair.
The face is gone. The thing inside him has disappeared. It has crawled back inside, waiting and hiding, and there’s not a single mark on the man. No spot where his skin distended and tore, no marks of the door to the ancient portal that dwells within him. In the last second before you go blind, you wonder if the whole thing was a hallucination, a waking dream, a trick of the light.
And if it was, isn’t that the funniest thing you’ve ever heard?
Click Here to Read From Tarotsphere
Here’s a little known fact about the Devil. He hates having his picture taken, absolutely hates it.
“I look fat,” he says.“I look old,” he says. “I look like someone just killed my favorite demon. Put that camera away.”
If anyone has a right to be a bit of a grump, it is the Devil. He’s the scapegoat for every bad thing that happens. People talk about the place he lives like it’s the worst slum ghetto in the world. He’s also really sensitive about his nails. Look, he gets ingrown, okay? It happens. They’re actually very painful, and if you’ve never had them, you just don’t know. The Devil doesn’t give a shit what the current fashion trends are; you can’t bully him into manscaping. He’s a hairy guy. Deal with it.
Yes, he does have his demonic children collared and chained to a large stone in front his dark throne. That’s only because those kids aren’t twenty-one yet. The Devil will be damned if he’s going to let them go sweet-talk their mother into letting them have their trust funds early. They would doit, too, the little connivers.
Pile up on Old Scratch if you want. Talk about how he is the cause of all the evil in the world. Blame him for every little thing that goes wrong. But ask yourself this. If he’s so bad, why is he giving you the “Live Long and Prosper” sign? Huh?
I think you’ve got some re-evaluation to do.