Sick. I’m sick.
Sick to the stomach, sick with hunger, sick of life, sick to death. Sick from head to toe, but it’s all psychosomatic, so I guess I’m just sick of myself. I just wish I knew where the problem came from.
My daughter, she came up to me and said, “Daddy, daddy! What are we going to do today?”
“Nothing,” I told her, “You’re no daughter of mine and I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
She started to pout and said, “But why would you say something like that, Daddy?”
So of course I grabbed her round the throat and slammed her head into the wall until it came open and then I turned her upside down and drank her and ate her in pieces until I was full.
I woke up a moment later and found my fever still raging, along with an erection. I felt guilty for a moment but then consoled myself that dreams are dreams and we can’t control them. Can’t control whether we enjoy them or not, for that matter. On the bright side, my throat was dry no longer and my stomach felt sated. My fever still burned hotly, so I called for my dead mother to care for me.
She came in the room and then told me I needed to rest up.
“If you don’t preserve your strength, you’ll never get better.”
“I know that,” I said.
“Of course you do,” she said, “How else would I know it?”
She led me to the field of flowers and told me to lie down. I did, but then I started coughing up blood and then so much came up that there was a black pool beside me, and out of it rose up my daughter-who-wasn’t, reformed perfectly, though only to the waist.
“Hello big brother,” she said, speaking with hairy lips, “What are we going to do today?”
“I’m going to kiss you, little sister,” I replied, and did so, though she giggled when I attempted to do it in the manner of the French. Then I felt my tongue go inside her, face, too, head next, and then it was all wet darkness and I was afraid.
I woke up and turned on my side and threw up in the bucket beside me, but it was only chicken noodle soup and nothing rose out of it, not even a chicken.
I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I was in the middle of space, gazing at an infinitely large sphere from the outside. All else was darkness, save this sphere, which was blue and cold. I looked and then awoke, and I have never been more frightened than I was then.
Sleep abandoned me after that, and I spent the rest of the day coughing, shivering, and throwing up food I hadn’t eaten.
The mind can cure almost anything, I’ve heard, but I think mine is too weak even to try.