entry 1: mister monsters’ diary

Wind blew far North as I stood at the time, facing upstream to the invisible force that guides the dandelions home and ships asail. The cold whips are naught compared to the gnawing fire within my throat, the deadly rumbles giving my belly such a warm and nauseous feel. Such warmth gave none the comfort any good heat should give, only a horrible, perverse urge to feel rich iron-tasting wine down my throat. I did not seek this path, nor did I yearn for it, but alas, woe only falls upon the innocent creatures we call man.

The soft cries of the beautiful lady were blended into the screams of the crows as they were driven away from the scene. Trees were agape, roaring into my ears with furious rustles as I had allowed my body to do all the work, tearing apart her fair flesh to fill the hole in me. Yet even after every bone was licked and heart swallowed whole, the hunger still remained intact, untouched by the sinful blood that quenched my thirst. I left her there, unsatiated and unfulfilled as the first one, the act already having been done. Would I still have given chase to her, had I known it would have made no difference to me?

I had asked that reflection of mine in the cool reflection of the rippling waters of the morning after the fourth hunt, along with the fifth, to whom had left a deep engraving upon my breast, worsening the hunger within. The sixth kept on worsening this unsatisfiable beast as I attempted a worthless try at savoring her taste, only to surrender and leave her remains for the scavenger to come in delight at putting the soul at ease.

This wretched beast beneath me won't leave my poor soul alone, no matter how much liquor I drowned in, or stupid dainty pigs I had snatched from their sanctuaries, used like sacrifices to Mammon. This hunger continues to drive me to madness, thus it should take the blow for my sinful actions. I only need it filled, that is all I ask! Yet the gaping hole continues to torment me daily, consuming not only the warmth of skin, but the life from life itself as well, stripping it bare and leaving it for death to lay at rest.

Then the angel, the seventh, had come for what I wrongfully assumed was my repentance. The wolf in sheep's clothing, I call her now, and no, not an exaggeration I tell you. I couldn't divide her from the rest of my meals, but I suppose the liquor had adjusted my usual character so I may let the monster roam out of me for a bit. The monster chose not to listen to her, only finding her begs to be ever the slightest bit of bothersome – as most rest hadn't even resisted when I caught them – and nothing more. As I lay there in the night after another pointless feast, the South wind dying down, I weeped for once, as I blurrily recalled the Angel's pleas.

"I don't taste that good, nor will you ever feel satisfied, so why are you doing this? Unhand me and leave me alone, please, please, please, stop!"

To which I only replied with an idiotic beastly growl like a caveman, sinking my teeth into her soft shoulder. Oh how soft her skin had been, how lovely and warm. I fancy that the remorse hadn't hit me for her until it came, but only me for I.

The next month, I was plagued by a dramatic hunger as I kept in, staying well away from the creatures out my dwelling. Every waking second of my dreams, haunted not by this angels' screams and pleas, but moreover by the divine punishment to come to me from the judiciously lawful gates of the world I had chosen to stray far from. The terror continued to grow just as my hunger had, temporarily replacing it in the hierarchy of my loathsome mind. Not even the liquor seemed favorable anymore as I feared being shot, thrown in hells' fearful home, hung, turned away from beasts no better than myself.

Then it, the feverish wail, came before I knew it, come to haunt me for the next year, and console me for the rest. I had considered it a scream from the damnation of hell, and even now, I find it to make my very soul quake in anxiety and fear.

Some horrible being – to whom I assumed was that damned angel – had sent this unearthly creature to my life, and here it was at my foot, crying and crying and crying and, oh how I wanted nothing more at the moment to throw it in the waste and call it a day, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. An unseen hole within me had been starved for oh so long, I couldn't resist, and in it went to my arms, to try and satiate the soul inside. But even from within my grasp, it continued to shriek and scream, like a siren that made even I cower in fear. And buried under those wails, yet not passed by, was a quiet little growl different from mine. Of course, of course of course of course, how idiotic of me! It wasn't just a beastly little thing like I, and such a monster needed different needs met to satiate it. I went out once again, in search of a meal not for my beast, but for this little creature within my covers. And this time I was eating, not to fill my empty, hopeless void, but to cure that thing of its weak and terrifying sobs.

I fed it, as any other one would have, keeping the little monster happy and satiated. It was a worse thing than I, pickier than maternal wives and so much more fragile.

And as he smiled, the wind blowing southeast, and I felt an angels' presence within the boy, bringing myself a great sorrow to accompany the tender gaze I fathomed to look in. I kept him within my void for the years to come, that space fitting his being nicely and leaving no room for any other empty spaces. None of the other fiends would ever lay eyes upon this treasure I procured myself, this beautiful boy that far outshined the memories of my last six meals in the past years. He was mine to shape as I liked, and mine to watch in fascination and admiration. He didn't need to know of his fathers' past fumbles, of course.

But the boy grew and grew, and he was like I, a creature longing for growth. My arms alone weren't large enough for him to smile in anymore, and I needed what wouldn't be given to me, for wind to keep blowing and green dandelions to take flower even within a pot. And so this different kind of hunting became more extreme and tiring. Yet even now, I don't regret those years of repeatedly going out to feed you, those hours of hellish physical torture of honesty all but those who have experienced it look down on as the work of the poor and stupid.

Now, I am tired, old, and I am weak. But I think I am human. And for that, I wish to remain. He has an angel of his own, not to feast on but with. He is gone, far, far into the world of monsters, much less than I was, but forever more than I could have ever been. Ah, it hurts even now, but the dying words of a sinner aren't to be thought of. This blade in these claws of mine I call hands are only for cowards and sinners, and luckily I have a monster here to send to hell today. Even if my blood is permanently staining the grounds as my actions did, I will pen this for him to not fumble in a similar fashion. I am not proud of those I have left for rot, and what is saved from my life will feed a monster more human than the one here.

I'm sorry. Would that mean anything to her? To the first, or the second, or the fifth, or the sixth? Would the angel see me off to hell with a smile of pure joy as she waves those scarred hands at me? Would you cry as you read this, my son? I am sorry, the remorse must mean as much as he did to her if that angel were to leave him to a horrible monster. But it is there, so do not care for it, I beg of you. I want you to know, my unearthly little creature, that for the past years since I had gone out to feed a monster who didn't require the soft flesh of others, not once that bottomless hunger of mine came to mind.

I love you, my son.