A Facade of Flesh: 13 Tales to Terrify (The Midnight Library)

by Nathaniel Lewis

I hoped that she was in there, perfectly fine, having just woken up from her nap, and that the buzz was from her use of some kind of electrical device. Let it be a vibrator if need be. Hell, let her be in there with the defensive line of the Dallas Cowboys, her only requirement that they trim their public hair with an electric razor before she sucks each of their cocks utterly dry.

What would you say if I told you that nothing was real?” I felt one of my awful headaches creeping into my diseased brain. “I don't suppose I'd say anything, because I wouldn't be real.”

we despair at death, because it means that we'll no longer get to experience life… No longer get to see our loved ones or engage in the activities that bring us pleasure. We'll no longer speak and be heard, or enjoy a sandwich in the park. We'll become nothing but a memory…

What if I existed in a world where everything else was nothing? The thought invokes the same sense of despair… maybe it's worse even.”

What was I, anyway? Nothing but a series of random electron spurts that together formed a decrepit body? Or was I spread out, across thousands of universes… maybe millions upon millions of them? Was that all me?

“That every action has a selfish motive, even if in some cases it is the simple, though indeed quite exquisite, pleasure of feeling wholly self-righteous.”

If you were already rich, then your money multiplied all by itself, like magic, but if you were poor, the only thing that multiplied were your miseries, in step with your debt. Interest compounded, and you were either collecting it, or paying it.