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What are you doing here? Don't you think this is straying a little too far from the beaten path? You start to wonder whether or not you should turn back. This seems like a colossal waste of time.

Or maybe not, you realize, as you walk through the wrong door into exactly the right place.

All at once you are overwhelmed by the giant fucking mess covering the room. Art supplies and books are stashed in the corners, occasionally glitching halfway into the walls. Ink stains are smeared and spattered over everything, half-cleaned. The carpet is pitch black, but effort has obviously been put in to sanitize everything else— unsuccessfully, but you can appreciate it nonetheless.

Despite all the chaos, your eyes are drawn to the center of the room. Papers in various states of disarray are scattered around a figure hunched over a laptop. You think you know that music.

You think you know what they're doing.

They are so focused that they don't acknowledge you.

Intrusion unnoticed, you take some more time to adjust to the cluttered surroundings. Posters are tacked to the wall, colorful cartoon characters littering each one. Some are recognizable. Most aren't.

You find yourself fixated on one. You know this comic.

"Do you like that poster?"

Their voice crackles like radio static. They're smiling at you. You never even saw them move.

"That's my favorite. Can you tell?"

Upon further inspection, every poster in the room is the same. You must have imagined there being a difference.

They gesture to their shirt. Underneath all the inky grime, you see that the image is the same as the posters. "All these things, they keep me sane. I could never live without them." Out of the corner of your eye, you could swear you saw a different cartoon on the poster right beside you. There's no poster when you look.

"I could never leave them behind. They coexist, you know? In my brain. Always so hungry for my attention. We're playing the same game right now, so I hope you can relate." Oh. They're changing them. They keep changing them so fast you almost feel nauseous.

You sit down, suddenly dizzy. They don't seem to notice your discomfort.

Turning their body, the figure points to the poster you were looking at. You don't look back. Your eyes follow a drop of black ink as it lands on the void where a carpet ought to be.

"That's my all time favorite. It has such a rich, winding story. So many characters. So much fanlore."

You don't care. How is this relevant? You need to get back to exploring. The way that ilk keeps dripping from their hands is unsettling you and you don't even know why.

"It's just as relevant as anything!" They insist. "Without that comic I would have never found my latest, greatest obsession. Without it... I wouldn't be who I am. You can see it, right?"

They look at you. Their eyes are pure television static, but through the haze you see question marks that gaze into your soul, then down at their hands. "It's contagious, you know.

"You can't be scared now. You can't. It's all over you, too. Before you even walked in, so don't go blaming me for it."

Your alarm rises as they tilt the laptop towards you. First you notice the keyboard, completely covered in black ooze— What's on the screen is much more eye-catching. It's you. Not your face or your name, but every thought you have plays out on the screen. You just read that line as you thought it, and shifted nervously in your seat.

It's not even generating as you act. It's like it knows what you will do before you do it.

The

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The figure clears its throat, and the static goes away. Hearing them speak clearly to you startles you out of your spiraling for now.

"Did I alone make this? Of course not."

You didn't ask, but you would have liked to if you could only have read that you did.

"I can't pull ideas out of thin air, silly! You made this. We made this. It changed the moment you walked into this room. Do you get it?"

You don't get it. You don't get anything. You thought you did until just now.

"You found me because you were looking. You were looking because you caught it. You are already covered in it."

You can't see the ink but you know it's there on your hands too. You didn't know that until you read it. But since you read it, it must be true, right?

"No, no, no. I mean, I guess that's one way to deal with it. Actually, I won't tell you how to live with it now. You've been doing just fine. Still, you can take most things with a grain of salt. You can make your own salt, even. It's all up to you, really. That's why I don't want a cure."

God, they talk a lot. You can't tell if they make perfect sense or no sense at all. The room is spinning. They giggle at the G force.

"Just know that you're somewhat in control! I mean, yeah, crazy wild shit is gonna happen to you the more you keep spreading it around and bumping into people like me, but that's the fun of it! Don't you see? It doesn't have to be a sickness. It can be a plague. A wonderful, elaborate plague of winding roads and learning new things. Do you understand?"

You don't. You do. You don't. You need to get out of this room. Your clothes are wet with invisible ink. The figure reaches out to grab your shoulder with a sudden excited zeal.

"Spread it! Be it! Live as a contagion, smear it all over everything you love. Maybe if you manage to clean it off for guests and special occasions you might avoid total obsession."

You'll spread it. What other choice do you have? You've been nothing but disoriented from the moment you stepped foot into this room. You need to get out.

You stand up to find yourself waist deep in ooze. The figure smiles at you from the surface.

"Ooh. Looks like you can go deeper than me. Come back and give me a hand sometime, eh?"

You watch their fingers type something. Yes, you say, of course, you say. They beam at you like a parent showing off their walletful of family photos.

"Oh, and don't worry," The static crackle returns to their voice as they turn back to the laptop. Staring.

"I'm just as confused as you are. Maybe more."

You dive into the inky depths and keep going. You have to keep going.

Oh haaaay oFTo

Will it even matter if you tell him? Why does he need to know? Nobody will ever believe you two. If he even sticks around.

Don't forget about me. Moving away won't stop you from doing my business, Charlotte.

That

is

NOT

hey! i made a new tumblr. thought youd like to follow me here :3

the old tag was #notch in the bedpost but im gonna change it to #chess.pdf