You wanna know what makes me angry? You wanna know what grinds my gears? The omega-chungulon that keeps knocking at my door. I can’t get him to go away, hell, I couldn’t escape him even if I tried. When I go to leave my house he suddenly disappears from my front porch. But I know he’s still around. I can smell the putrid, bubbly, black goo that spitless from his quivering lips. 

I’m driving and I can see him in my rearview mirror, running down the highway at 65 mph like a mad dog. If a car was in his path, he’d shove it out of the way with his herculean strength. One time he flipped an entire semi into the air. It caused a huge pile, and killed a family of 5. After looking back at the human suffering he caused he expressed a satisfied, mischievous grin while slapping his belly. He knew I was watching, he wanted to intimidate me. 

He’s more like a presence than a corporeal being. Always in the general area, never engaging. At first, in an attempt to make him go away, I approached to give him a wet, sloppy kiss on the forehead. I assumed he wanted my body. As soon as I got close, he turned to smoke and disappeared.

Human tenacity is a scary thing. When I served in WWII, I experienced all the horrors that man is capable of; particularly the ferocity of the Japanese. The drive to throw yourself at another person and completely freaking atomize them with no regard to self preservation is bone quivering. At the time, I couldn’t believe that someone would do that. But this thing, this creature, I can’t even begin to comprehend it. No discernible motive whatsoever, a force of nature that persits to persist and nothing more. When I was storming the Beaches of Normandy, running at certain death for my country, I was the most scared and confused I’d ever been in my entire life. I thought nothing could trump the paralyzing terror of running at a wall of machine gun fire with the blood curdling screams of my comrades ringing in my ear. Now, I’m not so sure.