v i s c e r a l s t o r i e s

When Earth Meets Planet X

The screams from above ceased but replaced by an incomprehensible utterance of something, like it's speaking an ancient language. I liked the screams than this new sound, the screams have structures, at least. This one within the rift doesn't, and far more terrifying.

After she ate the last cheeseburger, I ignored her insignificant idle madness and asked,

"Hey, if the chicken came first, then why is there an egg?"

She crumpled the burger wrapping and looked at me, hungry and swallowing my imminent gaze and I could tell that she could see right through me, to the depths of my existence, into my transparent soul, like she was searching for the meaning of life, or any undigested foods because I know that what she have eaten and I've given her isn't enough to solve her crippling hunger contradicting her self-diagnosed anorexia nervosa but when I told her I'm bulimic and vomited in front of her (because I'm on a tight budget), she wouldn't eat the mess that I made. She closed her eyes for a moment, opened her mouth and just sighed.

Her body language alone communicated with me yet she's so hard to read. A vessel of pure anonymity painted in innumerable pseudonyms. What was she thinking? It infuriates me! Did she even care about my presence here? Of why am I even here with her instead of eating this mayo burger I didn't even like beside her? I need to know! She was like on the verge of orgasm, she sighed once again and said,

"Those questions were just a part of the outcome of our vestigial obstinacy. It doesn't matter what comes first. They are all to be consumed for my eating pleasure and insatiable hunger."

I sighed in relief. I was contented at the answer she have given me.

"If we fix our silent gazes and wild impudence and let imagination loose, it will run wild like a beast. It brings fear that needs to calmed. It's a state of mind in which thoughts haven't been tamed, domesticate it but don't forget that it's feral. Just like a yellow beast blending on the deserted scenery, sitting like yellow roses blowing in the cool summer frost, they look gentle in the conscious wind, but will kill, and I want a root beer."

It seemed all light emanated from her, like she was clad in this vivid aura. I knew she was an angelic presence but never could I have imagined she liked root beer, too. Her manifestation of an abstract and complex phantasm completely suits her. I imagined myself with her as we drive a jeep on a mountain while blasting baby by justin bieber or any shitty mainstream pop songs as the background music. She looked at me like she just saw something unsightly but I don't mind. It's just the two of us and the silent night.

"Why are you wearing ripped jeans?" I asked.

"This? It's a metaphor. I'm acting like a crazy person while wearing this but in reality, I'm the most sane." she said while maintaining this seductive eye contact with me. "It appears like I just survived a car accident."

Shit, I want to fuck her in a pseudokinky way like putting my hands around her neck for 5 seconds and cum prematurely but I remembered, I have aids, STD, herpes and chlamydia just like most of the youth of this generation. I don't want her to catch any of those. I've always wanted to protect her. She's simple, yet unnaturally alluring with a dash of femme fatale.

"Those yellow and red colors on McDonald's and most fast-food restaurants, what do they mean?" she then asked me.

"A machination, a visceral complot all this time."

That's just one of my many theories that even conspirators couldn't grasp. The makers of these fast-food restaurants knew that consumers always wondered about that, the similarities are uncanny that some piece of shit thought a single graphics designer that has a background in psychology had thought of the whole thing, even comparing it to the secret society and Illuminati that controls everything behind the stage. Knowing that the thought process also triggers the hunger of obese and skinny civilians, the red and yellow color designs are subconscious ciphers and when decoded, it reads, "Fat and skinny fucks, communism didn't work. All heil Daddy Hitler. And also, you're fucking hungry. Eat McDonald's, you're gonna love it" but in reality, I'm not loving it. The subconscious mind is magnificent, it could perceive the slightest interconnection between French fries and an actual French guy, or maybe you're just fucking high on acid on a Saturday night, wondering when did your whole life turn into a fucking mess without any sense of direction, so you'll just ask your bestfriend and drug dealer to accompany you in your existential dread and crippling loneliness while you two play minecraft in your basement, hitting a fuckton of heroine and poppin' xanax. It's a manipulative marketing strategy of popular fast-food restaurants where they use colors to induce emotions or bodily functions.