The beak resembles that of a large parrot. Its mandibles are held together by a clump of beige muscle, acid-eaten and drizzled like pumpkin guts. Jay grips the mandible dug into his palm. It’s the hardest thing he’s touched during this soft nightmare. Jay pulls on the beak. His palm skin tents outward. Jay feels the point of the beak grind against a hand bone. Blood, thicker and darker, syrups out. The pain is polychromatic, barbed wire through every nerve, white blindness.
