The jailer

I awoke to the glare of a bulbous-nosed man.

"I am the jailer. And welcome to the jail." He said.

I looked at him with confusion.

"Why the prose?" I asked him

"Why the clothes?" He responded as he began to strip naked

As I stared at his corpulent nude form I realized that I was in for hell.

The corpulent man sat on the ground. His legs were crossed and his dick was dangling.

"I was asked to jail only one man. The loneliest number."

My brows quirked.

"Where did you hear that phrase?" I asked him

"Death told me." He responded

.....

Let's review. I was just knocked unconscious by a random slab of muscle that is not Craig.

I then woke up in an...

In some kind of stone compound.

A very fat man then told me I was imprisoned in very strange prose. I corrected him. And in retaliation he stripped naked?!?!!?

He then quoted a phrase from a popular song. I asked him where he heard that phrase. And he tells me that it was a phrase passed down to him by death itself.

I don't know how to respond to this.

Okay. Let's just not.

...…

After dealing with a certain amount of bullshit. I'll just tap out. I'll recline back and forget I ever existed.

This was that moment. I sat back on the ground and closed my eyes.

I was done.

"Do you want to know what death is." Asked the local nudist to the undead. Or at least if this was a story. That's how I think it would be told.

Regardless that was the question that he asked.

And like the living dead man that I was. I told him what's what.

"I already know death. I don't really feel like knowing it again."

Self shattering. That's what death was. Now that I think about it. I wasn't the one true Greg until a couple days ago. When those things shattered. When proverbial wagon wheel which defined my schema of action shattered.

That right. I didn't do a thing. It was Greg 0.5 that did something wrong.

I'm Greg 1.0 the real one.

I'm better.

.....

And just like that I had untapped. I was back in the ring.

I opened my eyes to the nude form of the corpulent man.

He smiled at me with his inhumanly thick lips.

"What do you think death is?" I asked the nude man.

"Death is... It's not a person or a place. Neither is it a concept or something you can't grasp. It's a thing. In fact I have it right here."

He walked towards a dark alcove of his side of the bars. And walked back to me with a large metal hookah.

"This thing right here. It's death."

I looked at him in confusion.

"How?"

Again he smiled.

"You wanna see?"

I couldn't help but nod. What exactly could be in that hookah that would warrant such an insane name as death?

It simply had to be extrodanary.

"Sure."

Without lighting a match to create smoke. Shaking the hookah around or any other possible thing you could imadgen that wouldn create enough of a chemical reaction to make drugs. He brought it to his mouth.

And sucked. But not in a gay way. I swear. There was no gay sucking involved.

He dropped the hookah to the ground. His back arched and he brought his arms up to his shoulders and bent his wrist down making T. rex arms.

And then came the screaming.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhjhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

For what had to be twenty straight minutes he screamed.

Then claws began to grow at the tips of his fingers.

Without a sound he stuck those claws in his chest.

*craaaaaack*

His hand cracked and scrapped against his ribcage. If it weren't for his considerable layer of fat I would have definitely seen some exposed rib bones.

*Thump thump*

He then pulled from his chest his still beating heart. Attached to the heart were elastic veins that seemed to stretch and pulse with every beat of his heart.

The local nudist smiled and stared off into the distance.

🐐🐖🐐🐖🐐🐖

Five hours. For five hours he stared. I'm not sure what he saw. But that grin never disappeared off his face.

Then suddenly his grin vanished. And what replaced it was a frown. He then took his heart and pushed I back into his chest with a wet shulping sound.

"You see now." Said the jailer..

I gave him a quiet nod. I wasn't quite sure what that was. But to compare it and death would definitely not be unreasonable.

I just hoped he never made me try death.

A question occurred to me

"But wait, how did this 'death' tell you the phrase of that song?"

Again he smiled.

"I can't tell you the story of nothingness. Shreds of reality can be found there. But that's all there is. Nothing is mostly nothing."

Just mostly.

"Then is reality mostly real?" I asked him.

"No reality is real." He responded

So nothing is not nothing but everything is everything. Only moron would think of that oxymoron.

The nude man stood up.

"Well. I must away." He speedily clothed himself and sprinted out the room.

Across from he just within reach through the prison bars. Was his hookah. Or more accurately. It was death

I sighed. For all he spoke of his love of death. He still left it behind.

Greg 1.0 would never leave what he loved behind.

It really made me sad.