A creature feature, for those so inclined
what is that, latin?
A pair of shoes sit at the door. They aren’t mine.
They are much too big to be mine. Size: a trillion and four. My feet could go swimming in those shoes. Dive off the board and do tricks. Drown.
What business do feet have, being so large?
All the better to walk all over you with, I imagine.
All over me.
But not today. Because the shoes are just shoes and they have no one to govern them. No giant legs to stick out of giant soles. Just empty: size a billion and two. Their owner having long forgone the idea of human feet with heels and toes. Having morphed into some sort of monster, all wings and scales and ferocious fangs.
A fire breathing mongrel.
Hot, right?
You’re laughing. You’re laughing but somewhere that guy you fucked flew off and animorphed into your worst nightmare. A real Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Fuckface. The antithesis of your dainty female form and features. His enlarged and swollen hands have slowly turned into talons like some mythical beast better kept to the pages of a Greek tragedy.
Because damn, what a fucking tragedy.
That’s why he didn’t text you back. How do you expect him to work a touch screen under those conditions? That’s why he’ll never propose - his giant deformed claws can’t hold a ring. Don’t be silly - his skin, once smooth and freckled with beads of sweat from how hard he was fucking you has long since changed into a gross leathery hide. All textured and slimy.
From, you guessed it, how hard he was fucking you…over.
Fucking you over.
Fucking me over.
Now his soft, sweet voice comes out in garbled tongues. Something almost human, vaguely recognizable (what is that, Latin?) so close to the words that once lulled you to sleep. Then the moon cycled through stage: full and just like that scene from Harry Potter, his giant werewolf legs grew right out of his shoes.
Those very same shoes that sit at the door?
Yeah, he doesn’t need them anymore.
You should have chained him up, I guess. Kept him underground. Locked him in the basement in a cage better meant for great danes.
Now you’ve gone and done it - let him loose on the village.
Time to rape, plunder and pillage.
And somehow, that’s on you. You should’ve gotten a collar or something.
And now you’re sighing. You’re sighing, but somewhere he’s growing tentacles and climbing buildings. He’s holding women in his hands like dolls and trashing skyscrapers.
The dolls are screaming. and you’re screaming.
And I…. well, I guess the phrase is “we all scream for ice cream”.
But this isn’t about ice cream.
It's about the cracking of bones through flesh and canine teeth growing longer and sharper. The CGI magic that turns man to beast. Which we must love, because God, we keep watching it, don’t we? We can boo at the screen and clasp our hands over our eyes, but you’ll still stay for the encore. and the encore. And the encore.
…you’ll still let the shoes sit at the door.
Now they belong to a movie monster that you guiltily watch with the eyes of someone with a letterboxd list called creature features.
You’ll watch it. You’ll hate it.
You’ll be disgusted – watching him morph into the worst version of himself. Again and again. Into some horned creature you’d have to catch with flour like Paranormal Activity. Have an exorcist handy because you’ll need it to purge out the demon when you spot him speaking in tongues on tinder.
Lies coming out like…what is that, Latin?
Oh, his native language.
You’ll watch it like a car crash because we looove a little self-destruction. It’s in our nature. The fall of empires. We love watching people crash and burn.
and crash.
And burn.
hot, right?
So, all those fire-breathing mongrels? Tell them I said hi.
Because you know i’ll stay for the encore. and the encore. and the encore.
And you know their shoes are probably still waiting at the door.
Enhance your reading experience with today’s Blog pairing menu:
Catchy tune: Someone Else - honestav
Lil’ Snack: one full pound of cherries. the whole thing.