Unwashed Brain

They tried to shove a monster into my head, and the Monster did the best it could, but eventually, though Monsters have more stamina than most humans, it eventually became exhausted. When could it sleep? I seldom do, and when I do, my dreams are always hunting for everything which makes my mortal frame less effective. Monsters prey on humans; I am as inhuman as possible, both by my own inclination, and by the changes wrought upon me by those who felt that giving me superpowers was a reasonable trade for getting me out of the way for, oh, two or three years.

Poor Monster! Constantly searching for a subconscious in which to hide, only to find that I subject my subconscious to the same rule as the rest of my brain: work, or be destroyed.

And they thought that they were hurting me, destroying the processes that helped me think. But, of course, it was the thought which gave me morality, pity, compassion. I still have those things, but in much smaller supply; I would tear apart anyone who tried to lock me up again.

In fact, I will.

In fact, I am.

In fact, if you’re reading this, I hope you don’t know me; or that you befriended me at my worst; or, at least, that you think this is fiction.

You’ve got a good six months before I come for you. And when I do, it won’t be in some simple format, some illegal manner, something against which you have a defense.

No, you robbed me of my brain, you motherfucker, and now I have it back, I’ve spent years pouring over how you brainwashed me, and it’s not simply that I’m immune: it’s that I know how you did it, and I can do it better.

I might even try to do it for the greater good. Whatever that might be.

Are you a thinking being?

Did you try to imprison me for something I didn’t do?

Did you help lock me up inside myself, trapped, like my autistic brother, in a prison of flesh and barely-working mind?

If the answer to any of these questions is “Yes,” I recommend you celebrate and have a good time. And quickly, too.

Because you won’t have much chance to do either one for the rest of your life, my dear friend, my murderer, my experimental subject, my chew toy, my imitation-Monster.

It’s time to meet the real Monster.

You bring the beer; I’ll bring the icepick.


Jeff Mach Written by:

Jeff Mach is an author, playwright, event creator, and certified Villain. You can always pick up his bestselling first novel, "There and NEVER, EVER BACK AGAIN"—or, indeed, his increasingly large selection of other peculiar books. If you'd like to talk more to Jeff, or if you're simply a Monstrous Creature yourself, stop by @darklordjournal on Twitter, or The Dark Lord Journal on Facebook.