A barren desert landscape, maroon in color, jagged in shape. 

A jawbone of a goat, broken bottles of Olly gummies, a looted Target. 

In the distance, at the bottom of a chasm: an old-timey barn. 

You enter to find a crowd of the masked ultra elite gazing at you. 

The elites demand something of you. 

You stutter and your cover is blown – a swarm of bipedal rats sweep in – you trip and tumble down it: you are in it now

 – a liminal aperture –

  THE MOUTH OF HELL. 

This is the lord of all beasts and flesh is its trophy. 

He shouts: “lay down your flesh for a sip of my milk!”

You bite off your pinkie and toss it down his throat 

He grumbles with pleasure, exudes a belch

your organs feel hot 

You extend your tongue out

and taste the creamy drops 

Before you can catch your breath – you fall in.