Coming Home

    The soft chugging of a locomotive reaches the pilgrim. He sits atop his white horse, overlooking the prairie. As he shields his eyes from the noon sun, he can just make out the flickering line of black train cars moving across the horizon, leaving black smoke in its wake. He rolls his shoulders to work out the stiffness. He has been away for a long time - too long, Mariah will say - and he doesn't know what's going to be waiting for him. He hopes it will be his family. He hopes it will be the child he hasn't yet seen.

Oh Sh-

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A Boy pt. 2

    Danan soon left the village, fleeing into the shielding depths of the forest, unable to bear the sound of his mother's sobs. At first, he stumbled and cried out in pain with every step of his warped, uneven body. His body was transforming, and with it, his mind. As his bones mercilessly stretched and grew thicker, and his muscles swelled up, his mind degraded. The first thing he forgot was his name. He forgot his parents. He forgot his home and his friends. When his face stretched into that of a wolf's with dagger-like fangs under yellow eyes, he forgot everything.
    Everything but The Doctor.

A Boy

    Once, there was a boy. His name was Danan. He liked that name. His parents told him it meant "beloved." For the first 11 years of his live, he lived up to his name. Until The Doctor came to town.

    The Doctor had seemed a strange sort. Short, bald and eccentric, he had kept mostly to himself. His white coat was ever spotless and his dark glasses that hid his eyes made him seem like some kind of insect. Danan had peaked through The Doctor's window one evening, when The Doctor was doing one of his experiments. He had seen a lot of strange things. Things he didn't understand. There had been a lot of blood.

    One day, Danan fell ill. Terrible pain wracked his small body. His screaming and crying kept his parents awake for weeks before they finally brought in The Doctor. He had offered to help them as soon as he'd heard of Danan's illness, but the parents had declined. After Danan had told them of what he'd seen, they hadn't trusted The Doctor. But in the end, their love for their son had overruled their fear. The Doctor had certainly seemed enthusiastic and eager to cure Danan. Perhaps too much so.

    Then came a night of gleaming knives, jagged saws and glowing potions. He can remember only shadowy half-memories from the night. A giant syringe embedded in his arm, his veins glowing blue. His chest cut open, his failing heart and heaving lungs drenched in blood and dancing in the candlelight. He remembers the strange sucking sensation of his lungs being torn out. He remembers waking up with the ears, eyes, lungs and heart of a wolf. He remembers the shouts and screams as the villagers chased The Doctor out of the village. He remembers the look of terror and revulsion on his parents' faces. He remembers his senses sharpening. His muscles growing. He remembers horns growing from his shaggy head.

    He remembers Hawktooth.

Argument

    Taylor and I had an argument. It came out of nowhere. One moment, we were trying to assemble a table from IKEA. The next, we were trying to crack open each others' skull with the lime-green table legs. He told me that the bendy thingamajig was supposed to go into the whatchamacallit. I told him that he was a liar, a bitch and Hitler. He disagreed and broke my arm. At this point, I was pretty confident that I was winning the argument. So I pulled a knife, stabbed him in the lung, and told him that his face was stupid.

The Psych Man

    The Psych Man peered through the blinds, looking at The Prisoners gathering in the courtyard far below him. They milled around one man in particular. From so far up, The Psych Man couldn't make out The Agitator's features, but he knew them from memory.
    'Do you think this is something we should actually worry about?' The Warden asked from behind his desk.
    'No,' The Psych Man said. 'I can handle him. He wields nothing but misdirected anger.'
    The Prisoners formed a circle around The Agitator who raised his hands, motioning for silence. He pointed an accusing finger at The Psych Man.

Wrapping Up For The Day pt. 2

    As the bed disappeared into the floor with a hiss of pistons, adorable, bushy-tailed death flooded the room. Hundreds upon hundreds of genetically modified rodents poured over the shocked drow assassin. Steel teeth chewed through metal, cloth and flesh. Tiny, needle-like claws tore his eyes from their sockets. One of the squirrels chirped and tittered excitedly as it burst through the assassin's chest, painting the walls red with blood.
    He opened his mouth to scream, but before a single syllable could find its way past his lips, a trio of especially adorable and merciless squirrels forced their way down his throat.