Son of the Slob

by Aron Beauregard

Monsters are real, and they don’t look quite like the supernatural depictions on the silver screen. They look just like you and me.

I’d stared the devil in the face and walked away looking just like him.

Life was so pitiful that disrespect was no longer a concern to me. Everything just felt numb now.

What measure of mortality remained in the morbid snow globe that I was trapped inside of?

How much longer can the pain go on? How bad can life get?

The sick thing is, I don’t even fear the feeling anymore. I couldn’t be bothered. I’ve been completely desensitized. The truth is, I’m so twisted up that my own instincts can no longer be trusted.

Poor boy, he’s just special. Probably has a hell of a time in school. The world can be a cruel place,

Sometimes, after a horrible event occurs in a place, a weight continues to hang inside it. The darkness attaches itself like a parasite, and the event and location aren’t just synonymous anymore, they’re one.

Despite his rapidly pumping heart, sweat-soaked skin, and a constant sense that vomit might erupt from him at any moment, the vibes were good.

Would this place ever be different? Could we ever go back to the way things were? Or were we just destined to be disgusting human beings?

“This isn’t some fight for life against a single individual, it’s much more complicated than all that! Miracles don’t just grow on fucking trees!”

If the walls could talk, they probably wouldn’t. They’d probably just scream.

“Well, I don’t know if you remember or not, Detective, but the devil was an angel too.”

Unlike anything or anyone else, it would never take off in the middle of the night or up and disappear. The pain was simple. It was pure and didn’t lie.