CLAIM (any gender, mid teens to mid thirties)
This the moment, Joey. I’m heading out of town. Tonight. You can come with me or you can go to the party.
I wouldn’t blame you if you went. What I’m offering, it’s nothing that you were taught would make you feel good about yourself. But Joey, the world will be ours. And we will stay alive for centuries. I’m on my 200th year, now. We will be alive.
It would seem that if you go to the party, if you could just somehow win Tracy over, yes- I know you have the hots for Tracy- I’m not a moron. But if you win Tracy over it would seem that life now begins. But it doesn’t.
Tracy is where life ends. Death is using Tracy as a piece of bait: “Come, claim this beauty, claim the envy of your peers, claim offspring, claim further envy of your peers and then, once I am sure that you have made more humans for me, then shall your bodies turn to brittle stinking jelly and I shall claim you!"
But not me, Joey. I won't be claimed. I can make it so you won't be claimed either.
Would come with me Joey? Please... It’s so much easier to ignore Death with a companion.
Copyright 2016 by Matt Haynes.
If you would like to use this piece, please credit: "Courtesy of Matt Haynes and The Pulp Stage"