BURNING dAN brightly embodied that bold beastly bliss sometimes referred to as "the creative spirit." He was my chief collaborator on the foundational incarnations of hitRECord.org over the years and continues to inspire us ever the more. He would absolutely positively insist that we not let this bad news deter us on our collective mission. That said, I might not feel up to it for a little while.
Watching this community blossom into what it has become never ceased to amaze him and me. We would regularly marvel at it and high five. Thank you all for that. There he is now pouring heaping hollowed watermelons full of love over each and every one of us.
Let's celebrate him, he's fucking awesome:
See you real soon,
Live from Hawai‘i and Seattle, welcome to the Fireside Chat. Hosted by InkedCanvas and MisterB. We’re the rock’n tattooed duo waiting to prod your hearts and brains… ready to dig up the goldmine of RECords that still hibernate in each hitRECorder.
What do you want to talk about? We're listening.
Zooey's absence from the dance number in 500 Days of Summer was a tragic injustice. Here we have a remedy.
We shot 500 Days of Summer a little over a year ago. And even then, we kinda knew we had to do this. We talked about it back then, Marc and Zooey and I did. I mean, it really felt a bit wrong -- Zooey's born for musical numbers, and the one day she wasn't on set, we go and shoot a musical number? The wrong had to be righted. So when it came time to start promoting the movie, we had the idea to kill two birds with one stone.
Now I'll be honest; promotion, publicity, etc etc etc -- not usually my favorite part of the job. But this is different. This is creative. It's a work of art in its own right. And to me, it seems like so much more effective an endorsement of the movie than any interview or fashion shoot. Wouldn't you say? I wish all movie promotion could be like this: new, free bite-sized creations by the same people who made the movie. Plus it was about as purely fun a day on a set as I've ever had. Hope you like it!
[NOTE: alright, we've got a bug with the Hits counter. Dan's looking into it, not sure what went wrong. I don't think all the Hits on the site are inaccurate -- you can tell because when you refresh a RECord's page, its Hits go up by one. But it seems that when a RECord gets a lot of hits at once, it freaks out and doubles itself. Bummer, I'd like to know how many this one has got, because it's obviously getting a lot based on the number of Remarks in the Forum and RTs over on Twitter. Anyway, we're not trying to make hitRECord look more popular than it is, promise. We built this site ourselves, and we're still working out the kinks. Please forgive us! Thanks ~J]
The saga continues.......
Twas a shinybright earthspin, and the upover was a sheeny, cobaltic bluefest. High uptop the bigsmoke, the zeppelin zoo whished through the geogas. It was a baloonic ark, a sky-safari, and extrafactily, on this specicated earthspin, it was the dateplace for our man Morgan M. Morgansen and his lovebuddy, Destiny.
The passionpair lovestrolled through the animalium, pawtangled. Their see-globes met flit-tweets barlocked, finbeasts tanked and primates prisonized. Destiny superlated the snuffalunks, lollified the longnecks and rapturized the blackmasked rarebears as they bamboozled.
Baghidden in Destiny’s pawpouch, Madame Ballofur, Destiny’s pamperfied purrpet, see-peeped overbag, then re-snuggled bagwards, disimpressed.
The lovebuddies proximated themselves to ‘Rarebears Treatbuggy’. And there, costumated as a monochromic rarebear, stood the foodpenguin, lemonfaced as ever.
The duo partook in a pair of pinkfluff-pops. Destiny masticated her sugarstick saxifragously, leaving Morgan habberdashed. So hornified was he that he was blinkerfied to the slinkish arrivement of Lionel; Destiny's pre-now lovebuddy and a cognified smarmorific lothariator.
Morgan spit-swallowed at the sight of this regalite, this masculate heartstealer. Destiny’s see-globes frizzled sparklish as she permissed this Lionel to liplock her personpaw smarmily.
Oh he was a brazeful and bashless califrag this one, a testosteronic alphabeast, a maxified and magnificious Morgan mimic!
Morgan was shockshook out of his glaze by a “Yeeek!!” from a flabbergastic Destiny. Madame Ballofur had dissapparated, fleed the refugous innards of Destiny’s pawpouch and gone cat-about!
“Oh tragedous, wronghap! woed Destiny. “What uber-humalian, what alphaknight will revicinitate my flitulous fluff-friend?”
The be-stached suitors locked squintish see-globes, duel-bound.
The competing califrags seeked up and downish for the cutish catcritter. Lionel dove and dashed while Morgan creeped and purrcalled. But the perduous purrpet was noplace to be see-globed.
Lucklacking, Morgan slomped, downbeat onto a longtree personholder, aside the foodpenguin, who so happed to be on his workgap. The gent was chomping a speary eatstick, a Mousecub-kebab of impaled fieldfurries, their pinkeyes, scarestuck, their ringlet tailstrings rigormortised.
Morgan hammocked his topbulb in his personpaws, and let a long stream of air out of his facehole.
“I see your perduous purrpet has enbuddied the purrbeast” benefacted the foodpenguin, a tailstring twingling betwixt his citrus lips.
Sure as earthspins, there, in the bigmaned purrbeasts barbox, was Madame Ballofur, cutish snoogled under the purrbeast’s enormopaw and jubbified to the max.
As Morgan fastly vicinitated himself to the barbox for his fluff-freeing feat, Lionel apparated, duel-ready. Bashless, the malsuitor uprolled his arm coverers and brawl-begged.
Someplace a dinger dinged and the leisurespot hencecame a duellish painpit.
The prized personette apparated. Her tumbox tumbled at the see-shock of her pre and present lovebuddies bashbrawning while her fluff-friend remained catnapped.
“Anyperson, deperilize my poorly purrpet” she worded, pleady.
The flabgabbets fapslapped, duckdove and flee-jigged, slam-bammed, limb-cranked and flankyanked, pridelocked in their duelling dance. Outmuscled, Morgan was fastly grounded. The opportunous Lionel backstepped, primed for a grandslam.
Sametime, the geishily pro-Morgan food’panda’ fastflung his yeuchstick into Lionel’s painpath.
Mid-murderous lurch, Lionel sillyslipped on the foody-trap sending the mousemorsels skygliding into the purrbeast’s barbox! Lionel yeeked, girlish, as he upfooted, then downslammed. (Gogglebirds tweeted circlish round Lionel’s dazed headfront.)
Morgan uprighted himself, pummelpuffed. He fastglance spied that the bigmaned junglegiant was now divertously nomming the catapultous yeuchtreat. The purrpet was guardless!
Morgan chest-puffed and perilpared himself. Destiny lash-flapped, butterflated, as her true alphaknight shimmied the barbox .
Our daysaver slinked into the dangerden and, padsoft, toe-stepped petwards. He pawscooped Madame Ballofur into his toplimbs and fastly exit-aimed.
Still groundbound, that dastardly dipstick, Lionel, catcalled, diverting the junglebeast from his eatbait and vectorizing his feline see-globes to our man Morgan!
Morgan fastfooted safewards, supernormal speedish, the agrowled purrmonster yappish at his leg-ends.
Destiny masked her see-globes with a personpaw, too tumtangled to spectize.
In an awefeat of wowness, Morgan springpulted somersaultish and downdropped to the safe and sound, with Madame Ballofur tightlocked underlimb.
Destiny quickish snoogled her freed fluff-friend then angled, bambi-eyed, Morganwards. Her headfront was awash with apprecious butterflation and fullheart lovelust.
Lionel, diminuated, and ungruntled, his alphastate debunked, slinked into the noplace, selfsaying some gibberjack about an afternow vengement.
Madame Ballofur frisbeed an infosquare to the blubtrolling junglegiant. The enormokitten liplifted - jubilated to have acquainted this new purrpal.
Destiny snooglebroke, suddenish and touched her bottom lip with her topchompers.
“Morgan M. Morgansen, you are my solo lovebuddy, my butterflative manpet, my testosteronic alphaknight!”
Morgan pinkified at this linguistic lovepouring, then fullface liplocked his lovebuddy.
Morgan shut a solo see-globe at the panda-dressed pro-pair person. The foodbringer liplifted, recapitated his rarebear headcover and disapparated, leaving the lovejoined duo to consommize their recoupling.
And, as the great balloonic ark whished upover the skags of suburban Sellosedge, little did they comprend that this enormoblimp entained not only a plethora of rarepets, but also, a duet of the most felicitous persons in the fullglobe infinispace; Morgan M. Morgansen, and his Destiny.
We packed our belongings in burlap sacks,
We marched onward with no sense of direction,
Your deep brown eyes pierced through my skin,
You built a home inside me like an infection,
And you burned me in my feverish youth,
You made a permanent impression on me,
But now we keep warm by the fire in my bones,
And your contagion is my reverie,
Remember that time on the rivers bend,
In the middle of a land we didn’t know?
Chilled water ran over our intertwined legs,
And you promised you’d never let me go,
A cold rushed over you in a moment,
But your fever kept its hold over me,
I wrapped all my limbs around your shaking frame,
And In my body’s cage you said you felt free,
We had no idea where we were headed,
Or of what evil might ever draw near,
But even without sense of what is to come,
The whiskey inside us left nothing to fear,
So onward we march, burlap sacks in hand,
Carrying an infection that will always last,
Wandering together in unfamiliar lands,
Outsiders with no shadows to cast.
"Where are we going?"
"No, I mean where are we going, going?"
"No. We are not doing this again."
"Everything seems so empty."
"Because most people don't take the subway at 3:00 in the morning!"
"It feels like an endless journey..."
"We. Live. In. The. Bronx."
"But it all goes by so fast."
"That would be the point of a train."
"Pretty soon, we'll all just be under ground."
"We're already under ground, it's the godamn subway!"
"And what do you think comes after?"
"Really? I thought you were an agnostic."
"I'm definitely starting to believe in hell."
“So, I got your letter.”
“And I don’t see why you couldn’t just email”
“I like to support the postmen. And envelope makers.”
“How very noble”
“Anyway what did you think about the content of the letter?”
“I’d rank it somewhere between a Roquefort and a camembert.”
“I was just trying to be romantic.”
“Yeah…don’t do that again.”
“You didn’t even like the poem?”
“I like the way your eyes are blue/I like the way that you are you”
“Well it’s true.”
“I prefer truths of the non-rhyming variety. Just for future reference. Oh and the love-hearts over the Is and Js – gotta go.”
“Okay, I can do that. Thanks for the feedback.”
“Love you too, you old softie. But please, no more letters.”
“No more letters.”
There once was an old woman with three little pigs, and as she had not enough to keep them, she sent them out on their merry way.
The first that went off met a man with a bundle of straw, and said to him:
“Please, man, give me that straw to build me a house.”
Which the man did, and the little pig built a house with it.
The second little pig met a man with a bundle of twigs, and said:
“Please, man, give me those twigs to build a house.”
Which the man did, and the pig built his house.
The third little pig met a man with a load of bricks, and said:
“Please, man, give me those bricks to build a house with.”
So the man gave him the bricks, and he started the long arduous task of building his home.
The first little pig finished his straw house so quickly that he had time to run to the market.
The second little pig finished his twig house so quickly that he had time to cook a roast beef.
The third little pig stayed home, working tirelessly on his house of brick.
Along the road came a wolf, who spotted the straw house and proceeded up the porch.
He knocked. “Little pig, little pig, please let me in.”
To which the pig answered:
“Not by the hair of my chiny chin chin.”
The wolf then shouted at the top of his lungs:
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down.”
So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew his house down, but the little pig had already snuck out the back.
And while the wolf searched the wreckage for traces of his next meal, the little pig ran to his friend’s house.
Angrier and more hungry than before, the wolf continued down the path and came upon the twig house of the second pig.
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”
“Not by the hair of my chiny chin chin.”
“Then I’ll puff, and I’ll huff, and I’ll blow your house to the ground.”
So he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and though it took all of his breath and energy, he knew the meal would be worth the effort, so he finally blew the house down.
Once again the sly little pigs were smarter than he. They had eluded his capture before he even took the first puff. They ran together as fast as they could to their friend’s house.
So the wolf stumbled to the last home on the road. Upon seeing the brick home he knew he had not the strength to blow it down. So he knocked on the door.
And in his sweetest little girl voice he said:
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in. I’m running away from the big bad wolf.”
The door swung open but the little pig was nowhere to be seen.
“Shut the door, my deary, that wolf is but a stone’s throw away, I’m sure.”
Upon hearing the voice, a suspicion grew inside him and he knew the little pigs were hiding under the bed.
So he gently padded to the bed and withdrew the curtains, to see the little pig lying in bed wearing a bonnet and nightdress.
“Why little pig, what small nose you have.”
“The better to avoid the smells of the barnyard.”
“Why little pig, what small ears you have.”
“The better to avoid the noise from the cows.”
“Why little pig, what small eyes you have.”
“The better to see only the truth in people’s souls.”
Feeling weary from travel and tired as could be, the wolf seized the moment to pounce on the pig’s weak frame.
When out from under the bonnet, Little Red Riding Hood sprang.
“Oh no! Not this again!”
The pigs were so thankful to have Red as their friend that they baked her a wolf’s pie to take to her gran. Then they fashioned her a new fur cloak, red from the blood and sent her on her way.
"We may look tired, weary and weak, but we're not dumb."
"True, though two of us did lose our homes."
"But at least we're never alone!"
Red smiled and hugged each of her little friends goodbye. As she turned to disappear back into the woods she waved a bloody hand.
“If another wolf bothers you, just come get me. And please do not distress. I’m actually getting quite good at this!”
a little creation myth idea i had about outsiders
somewhere, there are shapes
being forged by angels in the night
shapes that once lit up the dark
brought unknown things to light.
but shapes require constant change
so that their light may shine,
and as the angels were unable
to dream up new designs
the old familiar shapes
one by one began to fade.
with all but one lone circle
left heavenly displayed,
the angels crafted new beings
inside this final sphere
to trace the paths and routes they'd take
for new shapes to appear.
but these insiders did not perform
as angels had predicted
although endowed with free will
to travel unrestricted
they dutifully walked the lines
that were set out before them
never altering their course
or seeking to explore them.
their experiment had failed
it seemed, but not yet too dismayed
the angels hatched a plan for
a new species to be made.
born outside the sphere
this time, a handful were designed
and placed inside to shake things up
as kings leading the blind!
taking insiders by hand,
their wonderment prevailed
the outsiders burst through the lines
and new paths were unveiled.
kaleidoscopic patterns formed
unchartered and unmapped
shower'd the angels with new light
as darkness came unwrapped.
the angels' venture a success,
and needing no more of this chore
they fled to newly lit up lands
and cosmos to explore.
but what of this lone sphere
now left alone in space,
and outsiders still longing
to inspire shapes at pace?
the insiders began to tire
of conjuring new scenes
and settled back into the comfort
of their old routines.
but the sphere grew ever dimmer,
a straight and insulated world.
the insiders had forgotten
how new patterns were unfurled.
as time went by the outsiders
found they were cast aside
and thought of as insane beings
by those on the inside.
they roam now scattered and alone
but still intoxicated
with the urge to transform static structures,
just as they were fated.
if this should sound like you
my friend, know that you're not alone.
go forth and find other explorers
of the vast unknown,
and hurl yourselves as one
into this aquiescent sphere
as shapes and fractals spiral out
new patterns will appear.
“How do you feel?”
“Good. A little nervous granted.”
“But good. Yeah. I feel ready.”
“That’s great. Honestly. I’m so happy to hear that.”
“No it…it doesn’t matter.”
“No. I’m fine. I’m good. I feel…good about this.”
“Because… it’s not too late… you know.”
“To back out. To say ‘no’. It wouldn’t be a defeat. You’ve come along way.”
“I just don’t feel right today.”
“‘Right’? What does ‘right’ mean?”
“I mean I’m…I’m not that…that hungry.”
“Have you eaten?”
“You heard me.”
“You are. I see it. In your eyes. The way you speak. The way you hold yourself. You’re a man that has a demeanor of self satisfied, extinguished hunger.”
“How dare you. How fucking dare you. Me? Eaten? Well why don’t you just jump off a bridge and die. How can you even say that? You know me. You’ve been with me all this time. From the start. The beginning. The off. The relentless training. The vomiting. The ups and downs. The nightmares. Me. Waking up, shouting, screaming, sweating. Seeing pies in my sleep. You’ve been in it with me round after round after round. When we took every contest in Scotland. The surprise victory in York. The embarrassing defeat in Cardiff. You saw me after that one. A mouth still full of apple and blackberry. Sobbing. (Pause) You know how much I want this. Yet…you go and say a thing like that. You insult me with these allegations. Cutting deeper and thicker than that thick crust pear and pecan pie I struggled with in Oxford.”
“You did so well.”
“I know I did.”
“It was a wonder to watch.”
“Yes. It was. Because I kept pushing. Despite my stomach bursting with fruit and nut. Even though my mouth was welded shut with treacle. I took down that buttery wall with all my might and strength.”
“And you can do this.”
“Yes. I’m sorry for my slight lapse in belief. But that speech. That speech, which was fucking epic by the way, showed me. Told me again. How much you want this. How much you crave the flaky, sugary victory. Fifty short crust peanut butter and chocolate pies. What’s that to you ey? Winner of the Swansea Savoury Pie Struggle. Current holder of the Isle of Man Munch Out medal. And chairman of the North Yorkshire Pie Appreciation Society. (Pause) You’re going to take this motherfucker down like there’s no pie filled tomorrow.”
“I fucking love you man.”
“I love you too you fat bastard.”
“What will you do? If I win, I mean. With your share of tarts, cakes and pies for life?”
“Have one hell of a Saturday night. You?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know what food tastes good anymore.”
Just a quick note from your friendly founder to let you all know what I'm up to these days. All of a sudden, a truly magnificent acting job has come my way. It's going to be one of those ones that's extremely consuming, and the reason I'm telling you all of this is...
For the next couple months, I'll probably be around hitRECord.org a bit less. I'm still gonna keep up the weekly regularity, and I'll definitely still be playing RECords and making recommendations.
Also, there's still a really cool announcement coming, probably in the next few days, sorry that got delayed. And, in the same video, I'll make my initial proposal for how to divide up the $10,000 to be distributed among the hitRECorders whose RECords were resourced in the Sundance screening.
Anyway, we've done this plenty of times before over the years. Sometimes I'm around less than other times, usually due to a job like this one. I just figured I'd mention it this time, because this'll be the first time since the version 4 site launch, since the HITRECORD ACCORD, since Sundance, etc. But fear not! We shall proceed and continue.
The gray sky wept the last tears of a long bout of crying so that the drops came slow, small and steady. It was awful being soaked through and the red clay of the road compounded his misery. His pants had long since caked and absorbed the earth making each step heavier than the last. The puddles wicked up to his thighs and, somehow, the wetness had begun to burn and sting.
He had never been more than a week's walk from home and now he was already three into a journey into an unknown that his mother had threatened would be the death of him. His traveling cloak was wrapped tightly around his shoulders but it was a poor excuse for his mother's hug or even just his toes at a fire. He had thought that civilization was closer and easier to reach than this.
The air became grayer with each step and he walked through clouds barely able to see his own feet. And then, rather suddenly, he stumbled onto something like pavement. It was hard, smooth and level. It was wide enough for at least two cars to pass without tearing off the other's mirror. But it looked like plastic up close and he could see that it was a clear coating over a colorful and distinct background that seemed to be moving.
This new development doubled his apprehension and even turned him around to look in the direction of home.
"I suppose I can go home as soon as I find out where this road leads." He said. "No sense in going back into the rain anyway."
Maybe the fog heard him, or maybe the road was listening, but a tunnel through the gray opened. It grew like a vine and even the fog seemed to have a texture to it as it laced together. Here and there it seemed as though skeletal leaves hung down or punched out from the sides. The road turned from calico to solid red and flowed onward away from his home.
He thought it strange to walk on a river that was flowing freely beneath a smooth ice of plastic or whatever it was that was covering it. As he went, the river grew deeper and deeper red until it turned scarlet. Just as he reached a gate after turning a corner, the river turned into an iron rich red and smelled faintly of rust.
A figure appeared behind the gate.
"Welcome to Monster City." The figure said.
"M...monster city?" He replied.
"Didn't you know where you were going? You seem like you've come a long way just to get here." The figure said, not unkindly.
"Not exactly. I just want to see a little bit of the world before I go home. Then I can settle down. At least that's what the people in my village say anyway." He said.
"You should never listen to anything but your heart young man. You're unfortunate to have let the intentions of others seep so deep into your soul. The road you're on only appears to those who have been perverted by the desires of others." the figure said, "And so young too."
The figure opened the door. He stood staring into a city that seemed too empty.
"Why do you hesitate boy?" The figure asked.
"I think I'll be going home now." He said.
"Poor thing." said the figure, "You can't walk against a current."
The figure pointed to the road behind him. The covering had vanished and a wild red river was rushing into a drain beneath the boy's feet. A large ripple in the current broke against the pavement near the door and a droplet landed in the boy's mouth.
"It's blood. Oh my god. It's blood." The boy screamed. "You've got to help me."
As the boy grabbed the figure's coat the visage collapsed into a brief music. The bones being played against pavement seemed to begin echoing off of the buildings and the windows began to glow. Just a few at first, but soon, the town was anything but uninhabited.
Monsters walked everywhere. All kinds of monsters. Normal people-looking things with hollow hungry eyes. Children with knives of the wrong sort of color. Ghosts. They all noticed him but they didn't do the things the boy expected such malicious looking monsters to do. They didn't chase him. They didn't eat him. And they didn't seem the least bit interested in carving him into little pieces.
A naked half goat woman tucked her arm into his and began walking into the city.
"My name's She." She said. "What's yours?"
"I...I...I don't remember." He said.
"Oh, that's probably for the best anyway. It only makes it worse if you do." She said. "Just look at that girl over there. No, the one without a mouth and a face full of running mascara. She knows her name but she's just like the rest of us now. Well, she's more violent than most, since she can't talk."
"Uhm, She?" He said. "How come I got here? The thing at the gate said that only monsters can find this place."
"Oh, you mean the Gatekeeper, well, let's see." She said. "Why don't we talk it over in there. It's a lovely cafe and you look rather tired and wet from all your travelling."
The cafe was morbidly decorated. Thankfully most of the carcasses used for furniture were not human in origin. Unfortunately all of the plates and serving dishes were. His hot chocolate came in a human skull and the sandwich She ordered him was served on a shoulder blade.
"Oh don't worry. You'll get used to it. Why, you've already begun looking a lot less like yourself already." She said.
He looked at his hands, which had become translucent yet he could see no bones.
"What is happening to me?" He asked. His voice seemed garbled and deeper than it had before.
"Oh you're going to be a lovely one I daresay." She said. "If you're not careful I might even fall for you. But that wouldn't be any good for you. I tend to kill those I love."
This shocked the boy, but less than he thought it should. Perhaps everyone in his village was right. Perhaps he wasn't what a person ought to be. Perhaps his dreams were foolish. He should just settle down, find a girl, get married, have kids. Life is meant to be uneventful. Each of these thoughts drove him deeper into himself. When he looked up, She was beaming at him.
"Why you gave in quickly. I'm proud of you." She said. "And oh, you're handsome."
She began playing with the gray strips of cloth that had wound around his body. Not like a mummy, so much as like a fog. In fact, it was the fog he had walked through to get to Monster City. It had the same salty smell and melancholy shade of gray. She took a bite of the fog and her sunken eyes lit for just a moment.
"I haven't tasted sadness like this since the Gatekeeper showed up. You're positively delightful." She said.
"I don't care about any of that. I'm going home." He said.
"Yes, you should repay the ones who did this to you. But sleep first and when you wake, I'll give you a name, then you can do as you please. We all do anyway." She said.
She led him upstairs to a corner room that was apparently in a turret. The windows looked out over the fog and back onto the normal land that he had been walking in only hours ago. The sun was bright and irritatingly cheery. He was certain it never used to bother him that the sun was cheerful. Now the idea of it seemed wholly intolerable. The misery was painfully comfortable.
"I suppose I am tired." He said.
"Don't worry. These are my finest people sheets and the pillow is made of the dried eyes of a thousand fish. You'll find no better place to sleep than in my bed." She said.
She lay down next to him and cuddled in. One of her horns pierced his chest but he didn't mind. It seemed as natural to be here as it had to be walking on that road only hours before. He fell asleep shortly after she began snoring. Her bare skin was warm against the cold damp that seemed to cover his body.
He woke up to She screaming.
"Get out!" She said.
"What? What did I do?" He said.
"What did you do? You paraded through my dreams and everytime I had a moments peace from this hell, you ate it. You ate every good thing that was in my heart. They're gone. They're all gone! Couldn't you let me be miserable just the way I was?" She screamed.
"I didn't know. I don't know how I did. I don't even remember." He said.
But he did remember. He remembered hating the happiness and wanting to eat all of it.
"I know it's not your fault." She said. "You're new after all. But you're worse than most Dream Eater. There's the name I promised you. Come back and see me once you settle in. I have things I want you to do."
At the gate he met the gatekeeper.
"Going so soon?" The gatekeeper asked.
"I'm going home." Dreameater, said.
"Oh but they'll accept you even less now and you're only going to hurt and scare them all very badly." The gatekeeper said. "You do know that they can't see you and that if they did they'd be terrified of you."
"I don't care."
"Oh?" The gatekeeper said, "Well, I still do and that's why I've not returned home in all the long years I have been here. I terrorize strangers mostly. But it makes me even more sad and miserable. I suppose that's the life of us monsters though."
"I don't care." The dreameater said. "I don't care about any of it anymore. They deserve to feel the pain of what they made."
"Oh, but they don't, young man. Don't you see? It wasn't them talking so much as it was you doing the listening that made you what you are. You'll only get more miserable this way. But I won't stop you. Misery loves company after all and the more miserable you are the better friends we can be."
Additional sources not listed in the resources below:
http://www.hitrecord.org/records/865437 "She" By Nattie