Monster

            I need to write something. Any fucking thing.

I really wish I had some form of fucking inspiration. Anything. Just a beginning, a middle, and an end. That’s all I really want. Just to write some fucking thing that even remotely makes sense that’s longer than a paragraph. Or a sentence. Or a fragment.

Do you want to go on a walk? I really need to get out. Find inspiration. Find something. Maybe I’ll ask him when he gets home. I don’t work tomorrow, maybe I’ll go see a friend.

Maybe I’ll finally feed that thing I keep in the closet next to my skeletons. Somehow I guess I’ve always just been afraid of it getting bigger. But it’s been making these noises at night- these horrible cracking, grinding, sobbing noises that I can’t even try to describe- and I can’t fucking sleep. I can hear it through the door. Maybe it’s hungry. What does that thing even eat? Does it even have a mouth? Probably, I can hear it breathing sometimes. God, this would be so much easier if I could actually see it.

Sometimes I lay awake thinking of what it might look like. Sometimes I convince myself that I can catch it off guard but when I rip the doors open, it’s just… nothing. Empty. The closet light’s still there, swaying on the cord, but other than that- nothing. Once I could have sworn I saw a shadow but I’m sure it was just my desire to actually see this thing. Maybe it wouldn’t freak me out so much if I knew where it was, what it looked like.

I think it follows me. I can’t see it, but I think it trails me everywhere I go. Do you ever feel like you’re being watched? But you look around and there’s no one there? It’s like that, but I can sometimes feel it’s sticky breath on my shoulders. My shoulders… it must be tall.

I can feel it now, as I write this. My closet door is open, maybe it’s decided to come out for a little while. My feet are warm- is it lying on me? Like some huge, ethereal cat at the foot of my bed? I can almost feel its weight, feel it shifting as it inhales.

Look, I just want it to be quiet at night. Want it to stay in the closet so I know where it’s at. So I can keep track of it, keep it safe. Keep us safe.

But God those noises! I can hear its invisible bones breaking in the middle of the night, can hear it licking the walls with an undetectable tongue and every creak, scratch, or drip seems to come from my closet.

What if it gets so hungry that it bursts out? What if, after that, I can’t find it? Does it have the ability to kill, without a solid body? What damage could it do? If I don’t feed it?

Was it wrong of me to create it? Over the years it’s just grown and grown, but has it grown too big? Can I still control it? Or has it grown so big that it’s now controlling me?

I know the answer. I guess I just don’t want to admit it. The truth is, and I’ve always known, that we’re one and the same. I’m it, and it’s me. When it feeds, I’ll get stronger. And when it dies, I die.

My blood, my mind, my monster.