It Can’t Be.
My eyes drudge open, blinking several times before locking into unison. How am I here? When did I arrive at my ex’s apartment? I never felt safe here. I shiver, recalling memories of abuse; feeling them pass around and through me. But this is different… I sense immediate danger. Why do I feel like someone is watching me, following me? How do I know they are trying to kill me?
I walk out of the dining room and towards the living room when I notice… I don’t know whether to say it or him. It is an oddly proportioned humanoid, head excessively large and ready to burst, body hunched over and disfigured like in the ableist description of Mr. Hyde. Its feet are puffed out with fat. The torso, chest, and arms are shrunken. It is small; noticeably smaller than my 5’2 frame, with most of the volume being made up of the exceptionally horrendous looking head. Rage seeps from its pores like an inescapable sludge. It is angry; intensifying a simultaneous implosion and explosion of incessant wrath. My partner stumbles from out of the bedroom, opposite to the creature.
They try to defend me by attacking the creature, but can barely scratch it. The creature starts to turn against him. I decide to make myself a more immediate threat. I grab the closest object that could be used as a weapon- a pen- and stab it, but the pen is hollow and lands just below his collar bone, barely embedded. I am now just arms width away from this thing and I realize it has endless jagged, razor-sharp teeth. It grins maliciously, curiously, hurt, and vengeful. Its eyes are deranged with grief.
I pull the pen up and stab at him again, weaker this time as if it fed off my fear. Just below their eye, I poke them with the pen and struggle upward. I eventually get the pen into the eye socket, push in, and feel the slightest bit of relief. That’s it. That should be the final move.
But the pen turns into a longer, larger tube and the beast keeps walking forward, further impaling itself, absorbing it, and pressing forward to devour me. It continues to absorb and grow more; relishing in my fear, relishing that I am transfixed in horror, frozen so it may envelop and consume me, too. It dawns on me that nothing could harm it. Hurting it only makes it grow. It is pain. It is suffering. I am certain this is my death. It’s getting closer and closer to me, sliding the pipe into its eye, curving down its throat and in through its digestive system. It is as if the object moves through him instead of into him. This is my fate, my death. I have so many regrets, things I wish I could’ve done, or not done, or done differently. I want to live but I’m terrified of what I will endure when the thing finally gets close enough to get me.
It is upon me and I-
12 pm 10/24/2020