What am I making of this intake? This booze,

What am I making of this intake? This booze, this gluttony, my Facebook feed trough, the news, the binge-watching? What alchemy occurs in this dust-devil's dissolute crucible? He
talks to me.
"Who talks to you, my sweet child?" Mother caressed my chin, staring at me intently. Her eyes had gone completely pitch black. That was when I knew my friends fate had been sealed.
I waited until mother let me go, and walked to the post office, demanding that they return my friends' scrolls. They kindly obliged, and I broke the seals on the scrolls to read my
future. When I unfurled the scroll, I found to my astonishment that it was completely blank. Was this a joke? Was what the fates had planned for me... Entirely left up to chance?
What the hell was I supposed to do with this "chance"? I was living my whole life leaving it up to chance and look where it has gotten me. I am the most hunted mortal with no where
to hide and with my death looming before me to surely go viral on YouTube. So I decided to do the only thing I could think of: I stopped running and started singing "Seasons in the
Sun." After blinking away tears, I found myself standing on the beach. The soothing surf sloshed against my bare legs and feet. I slowly sank into the soggy sand.
The microbiotic diet I was on took its toll when I was enjoying breakfast with The Beatles. Sir Paul suggested a vegan diet instead. Okay, I said. I followed his advice and found
, after a while, that I preferred Meatloaf.

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