noirandchocolate:

• It started with voices in the distance you could barely make out, just on the edge of hearing.  Just whispers.  But they’ve been getting louder, day by day.  They’re getting closer, and closer, and louder, and louder, until you can no longer drown out or ignore them.  “Update,” the voices say, “UPD8.”
• There’s a knock on your door and when you open it, a girl in a green and black tutu and a cat ear headband asks, “Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior?”  That’s a new tactic, you think as you politely tell her you’re not interested.  She hisses and runs off.  Later, when you go outside, you find, scrawled on your door in metallic-smelling red paint, the zodiac sign for Cancer.
• There seem to be a lot more juggalos about in your city.  You could swear they’re following you.  One dark night as you’re walking home, your every step is accompanied by the sound of a bike horn.  honk HONK.
• At your favorite bar, the one where the one-eyed bartender knows your name, you notice a woman standing off to the side, near the wall, who you’ve never seen before–and you’d remember her.  Her perfect dark skin, so black it’s almost purple, and her silvery eyes surveying everyone and everything with a queenly air from under the brim of her wide round hat.  She catches you watching her, smiles the smile of someone who knows how you will die, and takes a drag from her long-handled cigarette holder.  Your vision blurs, and by the time the smoke ring she blows clears, she is gone.  Maybe she was never there.  Or maybe she is everywhere.
• Every dog is a good dog, and your best friend.  Even the one who keeps trying to bite your brother.  You can’t understand why anyone would ever not think a dog is their best friend, and definitely a good dog.
• You hear on the news that researchers have picked up a strange noise coming from the deepest part of the world’s ocean.  The broadcast begins to dissolve into static, and is replaced with a message in bright purple-pink text: “she wakin up, beaches 38D”
• A scrawny kid wanders up to you at the mall, in a bright red hoodie.  He tells you he’s from the future.  You laugh, but a few seconds later, a boy who could be this one’s twin walks by, staring at you.  You look over the wide aisle into the record store across the way, and there’s another one.  Identical in everything but clothing.  You realize you’ve been seeing this boy all around town.  Constantly.  Always the same face, the same sunglasses in different hoods and t-shirts and suits.  Every boy child in your town is this boy.  And you’re also starting to realize that all of the girl children have ram’s horns…
• Your father has baked you a birthday cake.  It isn’t your birthday.  Or so you think.  You check the calendar.  It is your birthday.  It’s your birthday today, and it was your birthday yesterday, and it will be your birthday tomorrow.  It has always been your birthday, for years.  Betty Crocker is making a fortune in cake mix and you long for it to not be your birthday ever again.
• They warned you about stairs, bro.
• They told you, dog.