You’ve asked me to explain myself, but I’m not even sure you’d believe me. You can deny me my humanity and distance yourself from my endeavours but know that my actions are not unique to me. I am no different than any of you. I am complete.

In the same way you wake without trying and sleep without thought, I see. I see, because my mother did as her mother and her mother’s mother did.

“Kota.”

In the same way you hunger without effort and tire after work, I know. I know because my father did as his father and his father’s father did.

“Kota.”

Everything about what stands before me gives me reason to fear it.

Seer. Fortune Teller. Prophet. Different names but always the same role. I’ve seen so many beings and spirits, so many angels and ghosts but no matter what I witness and no matter what sights time permits, it has always ALWAYS been of this plane and this planet.

The divide between the natural and supernatural has always been grounded in patterns I can recognize. If I discuss my practice, those unfamiliar would expectedly think me crazy. A fool. But they simply do not see the strings that tie the two realities. I mean, a ghost is simply a person passed. Nothing magical or unordinary about it.

But today I stand across several eyes that bleed red with every blink, fixed upon a face that stretches to the floor. As it speaks, I see simultaneous movement on either side of its face and so I can only infer that it's its mouths. The room isn’t small, but its size alone forces me into a corner as red slowly pools at its base.

“Kota.”

Its voice is quiet. Barely any sound really but the "K" and the "T" are sharp clicks that echo through its throat.

Its skin is black but shines blue and is littered with large pores that open wide and close shut with every breathe.

“Kota.”

“Yes?” I reply only because it seems to be my only option. Silence only encouraged its repetition.

Assuming my response would generate a conversation, I am instead faced with the irony of silence.

“How do you know my name?” I try again.

It blinks slow. Red drips to the ground.

“I know the names of all that call me.”

A demon? Maybe ghoul?

“I-I don’t think I have. C-Called on you I mean.”

Grime reaper? Death? Is that it? Has my time come?

“Every night you wish for my company and you beg for my presence.”

It inflates as the thousands of openings vibrate as it pulls in air.

“Please I- Forgive me but I’m not sure who you are. What is your name?”

“I have no name.”

From it’s side I see movement as something begins to reach out. An arm, long and limp, reaches for me.

“Your desire for what I can offer has led me to where I am now. I know you Kota.”

It’s tongue rolls out of its mouth as it licks the red that spills from its eyes.

“I don’t know what that means. Please just spell it out for me. Are you a manifestation of my thoughts? What are you?”

“I am a purpose. A being driven by function.”

“Ok and what are you called?”

“I have no name.”

“I don’t understand. What is it that you want from me?”

“One fifth of your soul.”

“No.”

Blood. Hair. Skin. Anything but my soul. I am a poor psychic, a shitty prophet, but I know of balance. I know that if I hope to know peace, to truly exist in her presence, I must die as I was born, with my soul in its entirety.

“I am incomplete. I am cursed to travel— trapped between space and time— destined to forever search and acquire what I need.”

“Cursed by who? Who is your maker?”

“I am. I willed it, so it is so. A manifestation of my one sin: desire.”

“You- ? I don’t get it..you mean you collect th-?”

It takes a deep sigh. It’s face folds in on itself then releases as its eyes pop back into place. I’m certain that it has expressed some type of emotion, most likely frustration, but I am unsure of how to read its face.

“On the day your…,” It looks to my desk. “… books are able to dream or your..” Speaking slow and deliberate like I am a child unable to grasp the simplest of ideas, it looks down at my feet and continues, “…or your shoes are able to want, you will understand. I wish for more than my intended function. I wish to wish and do. I wish for a soul.”

“But you do wish. You do desire. Is that not evidence of a soul. You are-“

“My prayers have been met with a compromise. Every effort I make to..to be as I wish, as I want, has been…” It trails off as it looks off out my window, but still keeps a few eyes on me.

“I have lived many lives. Each one shorter than the last. The gods of Gol and Abraham have denied me. I have bled for the Shrapenthas and have cried for the Croki. I have prayed to the Greeks and the Romans, the ancient Hindu deities and the Buddha himself and all have turned me away.” It voice is louder now. Deep and hollow.

In no more than a whisper it says, “But you.. you have called out and cried to be released of this burden.”

“What are you talk-?”

“You have wished for a long time now. You no longer want this burden. The burden of a soul.”

“Do you mean-?”

“October 12, 2004 you swallo-.”

“I WAS FIFTEEN. I WAS YOUNG AND I WAS DEPRESSED. I-?”

“YOU WERE UNHAPPY.” It’s eyes shot open wide as the red pooled beneath us. It’s pores opened wide as it released a clear mucus. Anger.

“You wish for a simplicity that only a soulless life can bring. I would know. For in those times, I did not feel. I did not want. I am only left with the memory that I existed. A memory I only have now after having granted myself consciousness. Even now you tire of the complications that thought and desire bring. I am only asking for a fifth; only twenty percent! Not much will change. If you’d like I can take more but I figu-.”

“NO. No, um, twenty percent is fine. Ok. I mean I need to think ab—.”

“Perfect! So you agree!”

“No wait! I never—.” But it was gone along with all its excretions. It was like it was never there.

Two hours later and the floor was covered in the same red. Only this time, it was much much more.

I’m not even sure it really happened. I mean..I know it happened. I saw it happening before it happened, but at the time, I really did believe it to be another nightmare. I didn’t actually think I would ever be capable of doing something like this.

Maybe you were right. I really don’t know how it happened. I remember doing it but there was no thought behind it. I just..

I think you were right. I would never have done what I did, had I been left complete. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.