Victoria-Sabas

January 19 Five-thirty P.M. was unwelcome. Really, most things were unwelcome, so he got up and put his head in his hands before checking his phone, which he had put on silent, apparently.  He had several new messages, which he did not open, due to deep-seated terror which he could only barely feel.  He went to the fridge and downed the rest of  the orange juice in the carton, which was only just beginning to ferment.  He knew with perhaps 90% certainty that this would not make him sick.  He had been kind of half-assedly studying the human body as of late. When the orange juice was all gone, he tossed the carton into the recycling without

January 17 Sparkplug woke up on a cold January morning and stared at his hands.  They were medium-sized and soft.  He thought they might look better if they were paler, or maybe a shade darker.  Instead, they were boring-shade.  He looked at his dirty pillow and bit it for no reason that he could think of, other than a primal urge. The pillow tasted like a texture, if that makes any sense.  It tasted rough.  He licked it a little.  He lay there on his stomach licking his pillow for about nine minutes.  Then he woke up a little more and realized what he was doing, and stopped.  He reached over and touched the part of the pillow he had licke

January 16 I honestly have been intending to do this for the last several days but have put it off because I wasn't sure exactly what I was gonna do with it.  But when the new year started, I decided I wanted to take Good Old Brad Paisley's advice literally and actually write a page every day for the next year.  I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it still, but I may as well begin. I know I have some days to catch up, because for the first fifteen days of January, I didn't write anything.  So for some days I'm gonna probably do two pages, depending on how I feel.  Anyway, let's ramble: I'm terrified of myself.  I'm terrified that I don