caput mortuum

his mouth tasted like satan’s asshole when he awoke.

in his dream he was entered in a high-stakes e-racing tournament. he had taken over another contestant’s place, glands wearing a luchadore mask so no one would know. he was seated high above the screaming masses, recipe in an elevated chrome throne. the racing took place in the mind and was televised on colossal screens which floated in the air.

the course had waterfalls and mountains, dread vistas of splendor. if you died in the game, you died in real life. cacti and golden arches, burning cathedrals and broken giant robots.

he barely took first at the last minute and the crowd went wild. he didn’t stand, in fact it didn’t seem to register. apparently his aunt was racing too, and she was second place.

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