Wait, is he an incel?
Wrote it in a month
Might I get consequenced?
Cover art by John Dermott Woods
It must have been about 3:00 AM when the nightmares started. John rose up off the greasy floor and began to undress, pile his shirt and pants and underwear beside him. He stood naked, gyrating, slowly turning at the hips. He began to talk and his voice was a stream of blood out from his mouth, splashing with no sound to the ground. His hips were the machine that ran his voice, a drill that dug the blood from his throat to rise like a red fountain and cover the floor.
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