Gigglesobs

"...I was just gonna ask if you were ready to go, but there's no way I'm letting you go outside if you're gonna be this racist."

"I'm only kiddin'! I know Africans can handle snowshoes. They got great balance b'cause of all that basketball they play."

"Goodbye." he silently told it, "We had fun."

"What the hell is this?"

"Oh. About him… I was going to tell you."

"Why didn't you?"

"I got tired so I took a nap."

"Why wouldn't you warn me that he was going to ruin my rug?"

"If it makes you feel better, I bought some Clorox and bleach."

"No, there is. You get confused because people can die in so many different ways. Think of it like a bunch of different cars travelling to the same place. Some drive fast, some drive slow, some have music playing, others are silent. Me, I got stabbed and choked, so the journey wasn't exactly peaceful, but once it's all over-- once all the life has drained out of you,it's cold darkness. It hasn't happened to you, so it's hard to explain, but I remember it as drowning in nothing. Everyone's there. Not my loved ones or anything, but every person who's ever died. You bump into them every now and then."

"What do you mean?"

"Trying to make the piano comfortable. It must be hard, you know, what with it being so big and all. It’s got that weird un-corner sticking into it’s back. What even is that? Who builds something like that?"

"I think it’s an architectural design to accommodate external modifications to the house. Sorry— did you say that you were trying to make the piano comfortable? As in, it has feelings?"

"I know it’s not alive, but if you think about it, everything feels, you know, everything can exist in a comfortable state. Once you understand that, you can work with it. A room full of uncomfortable things makes people uncomfortable, and vice versa."

"Oh… Well how does toilet paper feel? It’s got a pretty terrible job. I liked it a lot better when I wasn’t worrying about it’s well-being."

"I do my best to ignore the toilet paper, and the plunger, and the forks."

"God, I didn’t even think of forks."

"Don’ you think that askin’ that kinda gives you yer answer?"

"Nah dude, maybe I’d just puke or get sick for a few days. It might kill a twerp like you, but I’ve got size on my side."

"What even is that thing?"

"Beats me, man. I found it in a tree, but it wasn’t growing from the tree, see? It was just sitting there like someone put it there."

"I’m not big on gamblin’, but I think it’s safe to say that you puttin’ that thing in your mouth is a bad idea."

"Pssh. Whatever, buzzkill. This is what I get for hanging out with a kid. I bet you wouldn’t even have fun riding in the ambulance."

Guys were supposed to fall in love with girls who planted flowers on the beach; girls who named their pets after obscure movie references from 80’s. He was supposed to fall for a girl that named her fingers and ate steaks at ten in the morning.

"Yeah?"

"Well, a lot of things are different in this dimension. Not drastically, for the most part, but still different. So… I don’t really know how to ask this… What’s with the floating mice?"

"What about them?"

"Why do they float?"

"Are you saying that you guys didn’t have floating mice?"

"Basically, yeah."

"Wow, that must be weird… Anyway, no one really knows. I think the current theory is that they have an internal gas imbalance that makes them slightly lighter than air, but that’s not exactly set in stone."

"Oh."

He put down his burger. “What, you mean now?”

"Yes. Right now."

"You’re in my house. The cops are gonna investigate me as a murderer."

"I’ll leave a note."

"Yeah, because a killer totally wouldn’t write a note. What’s the next step, genius?"

"I’m going to jump off your roof."

"Like hell you are! I’m not cleaning your brain off the sidewalk while the cops figure out why I threw you from the roof. If you’re gonna die, then shouldn’t you know how by now? Shouldn’t it be in the book?"

"…It’s not in the book."

"It’s not in the… Jesus, so either this is gonna be a failed attempt, or your not gonna try in the first place!"

She looked at him, mouth tight, then relaxed her whole body. “Ugh, you’re no fun. Most people start crying and telling me how special I am at this point.”

And, going on for years under the guise of a miserable, invisible creature, he came to embody the world's perception of him. First he stopped crying, the he stopped talking, and when there was nothing else for him to kill inside of himself, he stopped loving. He froze his heart to crystal and carried on. The world had exiled him, and he slunk back to it an unseen, unheard monster. 

"You’re what now?"

"Like, I’m such a fucking dude, it’s ridiculous. Don’t stand too close unless you want to inhale my excess testosterone. I guess I’m cool with sharing, though. I’m swimming in dude juice. Shit, check out my manly ass arms. I could crack a walnut with these bitches. I’d let you touch them, but you might go hard gay after a few seconds."

"Alright, I know what this is. You always get a lil homophobic when you’re high."

"Naw, man, it’s not homophobia. There’s no shame in being gay, man. Look at me, man. If I knew a dude as manly as me, you bet your ass, I’d fuck him. It’d be a waste not to. I’m not gay or anything, but you got to respect a dude’s ability to be this much of a dude. Shit, look at how sick my shoulders are. I wish there were two of me so that I could fuck myself."

"I could probably get you a clone or somethin’, but I ain’t helpin’ with this one. I’m goin’ to the arcade, call me when you come down."

He didn’t look hideous, or even ugly. His cheeks were full but far from chubby. His jawine wasn’t exactly tight, but it still had an angular strength to it. His eyes were an unexciting shade of brown. There were heavy bags under his eyes, usually hidden behind glasses. He had a few small blemishes and dark patches from old acne scars. His hair was messy, not because he made it look that way, but because he didn’t bother with it.

He rubbed his stomach. He wasn’t a model by any means, but he wasn’t quite fat, either. He would look out of place among poster children for the obesity epidemic, at least, but he still had some flab and a gut he could pinch and pull at. If he moved around a bit, parts of him kept moving against his will once he stopped.

So he looked over his life so far, and wondered why he knew how to file his taxes but didn’t know what it felt like to kiss someone. Everyone else seemed to have someone, or at least a history with someone. He looked deep into his own reflection. Into his own unexciting brown eyes.

"Do wha?"

"Shovel down food like you’re trying to get rid of the evidence. Is like you’ve got the appetite of a family of four."

"Loo, juh becha ah cang eah—"

"Oh my God swallow, then talk, you moron."

He gave a huge gulp. “Don’t talk to me like that. What I was saying was that you shouldn’t be jealous just because I can eat more than you. I’m a truck, and you have to deal with your tiny, feminine, pixie-like internal organs. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s definitely not a comment on your sexuality. And neither’s the fact that your dainty constitution can’t bear to watch me eat.”

"I know where this is going and it’s stupid so shut up."

"Well what kind of stuff am I doing? Maybe I can change."

"No, you can’t. It’s how you drink your tea like you can’t handle the heat. You don’t walk in a straight line, and your freckles don’t itch so no one sees you scratch your face. You can’t help who you are, or the things that make you unique. People are gonna judge you no matter what you do."

"So then why are you so nice to me?"

"No, I think I understand perfectly: you lead some sort of weird child cult of broken toys, you have a cupboard full of exotic poisons, and sometimes you have to bury bodies in the backyard. That’s crystal clear to me, you’re some kind of vigilante serial killer and you want me to join you."

"Okay, maybe you do understand."

He glared at the man standing before him, happy that the body between them was too newly dead to stink.  “…Look, I’ll be honest. I think you’re kind of an idiot. Burying bodies in your backyard is like asking to get caught, and this whole poison thing seems pretty uneven. Like, the death should fit the crime, you know? So I guess I’ll teach you how to make some good hydrochloric acid, and we’ll workshop new execution strategies, okay?”

"Wow, that’s fantastic! But um, well… how much do you know about demons?"