Concourse 12. 8 PM. Sharp.

‘How am I still writing this story?'

What even is this story?

To be fair, I didn't know what I was writing but it sounded good—there was something powerful about the way the shadow figures danced in the confines of my mind—careful not to become attached to the love I had grown for them, the mysterious shadows, they appeared both as creatures of man, and as animals; this— The Prairie Dog— a fortified soldier but also a leader.

There's nothing you can do about this, you know.

Why exactly should I want to do anything at all?

It's a curse.

So it is.

—you'll be rid of it within the turn of seasons.

Worthwhile advice.

I envy you.

— as anyone should.

—you shouldn't.

The second, a voice unknown.

I didn't know these pussyfoot bastards worked on Sundays.

They work to the will of your beck and call.

Like all good slaves and servants should.

As to be expected under your remarkable guidance.

My remarkable guidance is yet to be a consideration as my unintentional inadequacies.

Verily, I'm sure.

Are you sure.

There was once a time I wasn't so sure or anything—

Now I'm more than sure of everything than I ever was.

Now I believe you.

—you shouldn't.

It was a raised scar, like the one on my elbow from when I was 9–one I was sure would never heal. It could easily be felt by running my tongue only the bottom of my lower lip— evidence that there has been a hole in my face that had gone straight through to the other side—just then I remembered that also my too teeth had left bloody, skinless indents on my upper lip, which eventually inspired me to re-pieirce my upper lip—the canine tooth had almost gone all the way through, anyway— I joked; but it wasn't funny.

Why in the fuck should I trust you?

That's a good question.

It's a question that deserves an answer.

Even if I gave you a good one, would you trust it?

What?

Do you trust me at all?

I'm trying to.

Trying is doing.

There are tougher things than swallowing your pride.

How about—swallowing a bullet.

That's some class-A on-screen banter.

Now I have an endless supply of coffee in my room. That's good—if only there were somehow also warm calorie-free pastries to add to the pleasure of luxury one would find such as waking up to one's own studio, fresh out of time and chock full of ideas, and a hearty list of things to do— with a whole world of…

Oh. The wi-FI is on.

Something about my creative intelligence had seem to spark a curious interest within the pre-concious life forms of the lower realms. Lucky, I was just visiting—sure to take my life at any given moment when just so I felt that I had been fed up to here with simply human senselessness; however, I was indeed tasked with enveloping humankind in my own ways—that is, the ways of higher thinking, as I had traveled far and long from an ascended realm, only of course to be welcomed by absolute l chaos—and some primitive, intrinsic fear. Humans happen to be almost immidiateky stifled by one's outer appearances—as to say the least— as when I first I arrived I was neither welcome, nor valued.

AHAT—WHATTHEFUCK.

Yes.

EEGH.

How do you do?

[The Festival Project.™]

{Enter The Multiverse}

There for I,

There for I,

There for I,

None! As truth did shatter mine ever being,

And also Ever person near

WHO VALIDATED THAT BITCH'S PARKING.

—you think she drove here?!

—if she did it would be on a broomstick.

Goddammit.

Get her out of here!

Out! I said!

You're…not a fan of Fallon's, are you.

No, I'm not.

(No—God, no.)

Well, why not?

First of all, he winks at people.

;)

*cringe*

Like, off camera.

And I want damages.

Damages?!

Damages.

He's seeking damages?! To what.

Like, my entire—everything.

Damages to everything.

My entire life!

Ah.

I've got to admit, being sued hy Jimmy Fallon is probably the most exciting thing that's ever happened in the entirety of this series!

What about that thing with Skrillex.

That was pretty exiting.

Which thing with Skrillex?

All the things with Skrillex were pretty exciting.

(Admittedly, yes.)

Then there was Dillon Francis.

I hate Dillon Francis.

Exactly.

Why!

Because he excited you.

Next question!

Ahead.

Yo. I finally get to link up with Supacree.

You're a mess.

Everything is a mess.

The world is a mess.

—your mom's a mess.

Amanda, please.

Have you been drinking?

How long has deadmau5 been a cat?

Forever, I think.

Exciting!

Enter through the exit! Enter through the exit!

Who the fuck let you in here.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

12. The Little Red Hen.

Powered by Wave AI