148 lines
8.5 KiB
HTML
148 lines
8.5 KiB
HTML
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<head profile='http://dublincore.org/documents/dcmi-terms/'>
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<title>The Homestuck Epilogues: Meat - Chapter 1</title>
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<body>
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<div id='s1'></div>
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<div>
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<h1>Chapter 1</h1>
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<div class="o-story_text o_epilogue type-rg type-sm line-caption line-copy pad-x-0 pad-x-lg pad-b-lg">
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<p class="no-indent"><span class="opener type-hs-opener-rg type-hs-opener-sm">M</span>eat was
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definitely the right choice, you think, as grease drips down your
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chin. The meat is cold and undercooked, so you have to grab it with
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both hands while you rend it apart with your incisors. It bursts in
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chunks, filling your mouth with blood and your throat with mangled
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knots of gristle and long strings of muscle fiber. You take big
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bites, almost too big to swallow, so big that you choke on the
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meaty mulch and hock some of it up into your nasal cavity. You
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sneeze out a gooey rope of phlegm and flesh. You stop for a moment
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to wipe your face, but your chin is still slippery after you swipe
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the mess away. Slivers of meat catch between your teeth as you
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masticate with bestial enthusiasm. You use your thumbnail to fish
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them out.</p>
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<p class="Command">> Finish up.</p>
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<p class="no-indent">Some of the blood has coagulated on the
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surface of the plate. You grab it from Calliope and lick it clean.
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She watches you—calm, placid, alien. Roxy has leaned forward to
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scrutinize your slovenly feasting, her eyes wide and intense. You
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stare back at them with your hands coated in unctuous organic
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matter and flecks of seared skin. The blood on your hands is so
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thin that it’s like oily Kool-Aid pooling in your palm.</p>
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<p class="Command">> Think, suddenly, about all the many
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horrible crimes committed by Lord English.</p>
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<p class="no-indent">God, that guy is the worst. The memory of his
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stupid face and his terrible art and all the abominable misfortune
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he has caused across multiple universes and time lines makes your
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meal start to curdle in your stomach. The meat sits there like a
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big, lardy mass—a black hole bursting the universe apart around it.
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You feel like rocks are churning in your gut and your mouth begins
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to water, hot and sour. The flavor of the afternoon air changes
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around you and it’s too hot, almost suffocating. You swallow back a
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mouthful of pungent bile as your eyes swim and lose focus.</p>
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<p class="Command">> You know what you must do.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="john">JOHN: i know what i must do.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">Of course you know. What kind of guy would you
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be if you stayed here, when you’re the only one in existence
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capable of completing the grim task? A pretty shitty one, who just
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sneezed up a chunk of raw meat in front of a girl you used to have
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a gigantic crush on.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="john">JOHN: i have to go back and kill lord english.</p>
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<p class="roxy">ROXY: u sure?</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: i think so. it will probably be hard. but i
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think it’s the right thing to do.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: everyone is counting on me.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">Roxy pulls back and takes a deep breath. It’s
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a very thin breath, and her bottom lip quivers a bit when she sucks
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it in. She looks disappointed, though you could be misreading her,
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as usual. Calliope looks... well, her face is a permanently
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grinning skull. You’ll be damned if you know what’s on her mind
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either.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="roxy">ROXY: i understand</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">No one says anything for some time. A pleasant
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breeze rolls down from the hills. In the distance, the bell tower
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chimes twice. You notice that a group of carapacians have stopped
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to stare at you with beady-eyed fascination. The front of your
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shirt is stained with dark, slimy patches from the meat. Christ,
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why did you have to eat that meat like such a slob?</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="john">JOHN: so, is that it?</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: should i, uh... get going?</p>
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<p class="calliope">CALLIOPE: if this is yoUr decision, then
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yes.</p>
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<p class="calliope">CALLIOPE: there’s no time to lose, if the
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choice yoU have made is to matter.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">Calliope closes up the picnic basket and
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stands. Roxy follows, taking Calliope’s hand in hers again.</p>
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<p class="Command">> Say goodbye?</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="john">JOHN: ok then.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: umm...</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: thanks for inviting me to this picnic.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: guess i’ll see you both... when i get
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back?</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">Neither of them reply. You look from one to
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the other, then back again. A loud belch escapes your mouth,
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catching you completely off guard. The gastrointestinal ambush
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releases an invisible cloud of chewed-up protein odor into the
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public park. The gross ball of muscle roils and snarls in your
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belly like an unruly groundhog, prodded yet reluctant to come out
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and see its shadow. Ugh, <em>why</em> are you thinking about
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this?!</p>
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<p class="Command">> Hug them, dummy.</p>
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<p class="no-indent">You hesitate a few awkward moments too long.
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When you go to hug them, they’ve already turned away, leaving you
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standing in the middle of the park alone with your arms
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half-raised, cupping the air. It’s so pathetic that the
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eavesdropping carapacians finally scurry away, overwhelmed by their
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secondhand embarrassment. You didn’t even know they could get
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embarrassed.</p>
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<p>You drop your arms and sigh. Time to get on with it.</p>
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<p>Before you leave, you fly back home and take one last look
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around Salamander Village. You breathe in the clean, crisp air,
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listen to the pipes chime, soak up the unfiltered sunlight. You
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then head inside for a wipe down, since it feels like you’ve been
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making face-down snow angels on the floor of an ill-kept
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slaughterhouse. You head to your bathroom and wash all the meat off
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your face. But somehow you still don’t feel that clean. An
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invisible layer of oil seems to cling to almost every square inch
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of your body no matter how hard you scrub.</p>
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<p>You go to your bedroom desk and dig out some stationery.</p>
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<p class="Command">> Write: “dear roxy,”</p>
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<p class="no-indent">You’ve never written a note so quickly, or
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with such clarity of heart and mind. When you’re done, you write
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nine more. Your hands leave grease stains on the paper.</p>
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<p>You leave ten envelopes on your bed, arranged in a tidy circle
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with the names of your ten closest friends written on them. Then,
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with absolutely no fanfare, you leave all of them and this idyllic
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world you’ve created behind and zap yourself back into canon.</p>
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</div>
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</div>
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</body>
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