Gary sat up from his place on the hardwood floor, leaning his head against the side of his bed. He’d had a good number of drinks, though the last was from a beer or two he’d had hours ago. He stammered up to his feet, pulling himself up against his bedsheets, and stood there staring at the simple white ceiling. His face was especially red, as if it burned him out.

Tik-tak-tik. A sound was creeping through Gary’s door and into his bedroom. Gary cracked open his bedroom door as he stumbled down the hall, leaning against the wall as he crept into the kitchen. He glanced at the living room for a moment. Nothing seemed to be out of the place, aside from the distinct lack of drama on his television. He snatched a remote from off of the couch, after which he put a generic soap opera onto the television.

Tik-tak-tik. Gary jerked his head around to face the kitchen. He sauntered through the living room, stopping just sort of the refrigerator. He threw open its door, to which actual ingredients pleasantly met his arrival. Gary breathed a sigh of relief, as he had discovered that Aggie chose not to steal from their fridge this morning. He reached inside, grabbed a plastic container filled to the brim with ham slices, and ate them straight out of the container.

Tik-tak-tik. It was coming from the bathroom. Gary dropped the container on the counter, still holding a slice of ham in his maw. He ambled back out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into his bedroom hallway. He turned to the side, facing the bathroom door, and he reached for the handle. The door flew open. Before him was Aggie, standing just in front of the bathroom sink, her legs impossibly long and mangled, so that she was as tall as he was.

Gary stumbled backwards, throwing his arm before him as he flinched, and he crouched down against that wall for a moment. Tik-tak-tik. He stayed still for a while. He did not make a sound. The house fell silent and still. Meow. Gary opened his eyes. Before him stood a regularly proportioned Aggie: a regular white cat. Gary pulled himself up to his feet. He stumbled past Aggie into the bathroom.

He cocked his head toward the mirror beside him. Everything seemed in order, though his hair was admittedly messy. He glanced down toward the sink itself. On the sink’s neighboring countertop, there was an antique typewriter. He said,

“Where did you even find this?”

Aggie stared at Gary, while Gary bent down to inspect the typewriter. Still lodged inside of it was a piece of paper:

I am tall.

The world is end.

I am short.

Gary raised an eyebrow, and he cocked his head over to face Aggie. He chuckled, and he asked,

“What’s this supposed to be?”

Aggie remained motionless, staring up toward Gary. Sweat poured down his forehead as he glanced back toward the typewriter. He positioned his fingers on its keys, and he stared at the page, wide-eyed.

“Is this—Is this a rabbit’s foot kind of thing?”

He asked, before taking a deep breath.

“Wait, a second…”

Gary glanced over toward Aggie for a minute before hunching over the typewriter once more:

Take me to Godfrey.

Gary winced, clasping his eyes shut, clutching his hands against the kitchen counter. Nothing happened. Seconds passed in silence. Gary peeked one eye open. Nothing had changed. He was still in his home—he was still in his bathroom. He glanced beside him. The bathroom door was closed, and the typewriter was gone. He reached out, pushed the door open, and wandered out into the hall. There was no sign of Aggie. He wandered down the hall, into the living room.

Not much was out of the ordinary. His old TV was still up, and his couch looked uncharacteristically tidy, but nothing particularly disturbing. He glanced into the corner of the living room, toward the coat rack; his pizza delivery hat and jacket were gone. Gary sighed, hobbled into the kitchen and stared out the window. His car was in the driveway.

“Yippee! It worked!”

Gary proceeded back out of the kitchen, snatching his car keys from out of his pocket. Behind him, the sound of a doorknob jiggling echoed throughout the house. A voice rang out from inside of his bedroom.

“Hey! Who’s there?! I have a gun in my fridge!”

Gary’s eyes widened, and he ran out the front door with his keys in hand. A faint voice trailed just behind him, shouting,

“Yeah! You better run!”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Gary darted down his doorstep, down the path through his lawn, and across his driveway, diving into his car, and driving away. As he escaped, he witnessed the other Gary chasing behind the car.

Gary drove around aimlessly for a while before driving into the nearby city, where he promptly abandoned the car in an indiscrete parking lot. He hopped out of his car, and wandered aimlessly for a moment, until he came to a halt in a public park. He found a bench, sat down, and waited. Gary thought to himself, Okay, so that typewriter is infallible. I’ve just gotta wait here, and I’m sure Godfrey will come and say ‘hi’ eventually.

Hours passed. Gary sat still on that bench, observing the birds as they came and went, watching passers-by intently, to the awkwardness of everybody involved, and falling prey to terrible boredom. As the sun was setting, his eyes fell heavy.

At once, Gary jolted awake. He opened his eyes. Before him was a lean man with frizzy hair. He grabbed Gary by the shoulders and he yanked him off the ground.

“Who the hell are you?!” He screamed.

While the man shook him around, Gary fell limp. After some time, the man threw Gary onto the ground, towering over him. A moment later, he reached his hand out toward Gary.

“You know what, that wasn’t very nice of me.” He said.

He grabbed Gary by the hand and pulled him up to his feet. As the man readjusted his disheveled suit, he continued,

“I would sincerely like to apologize.”

Gary stuck his arms out past his sides as he stumbled, regaining his balance. The man pressed his face up close beside Gary’s.

“I have some questions for you, though.”

Gary ambled past the man.

“Hey, let’s go for a walk.”

The man’s eyes widened, and he chuckled for a moment, and he nodded his head before following Gary. The two ventured out across the grass, onto a concrete path that circled about the park.

“Oh, wait. I forgot to ask. Are you Godfrey?”

“Let me ask you a question first. Why do I see so much of myself in you?”

Gary gasped.

“What—what are you talking about?”

“Well—For the record, I am Godfrey. You can drop the act. I just want to talk.”

Gary grabbed at his neck. His shirt was severely sweat-stained by then.

“I, uh—I came here to talk to you. I wanted to talk to you about your book.”

Godfrey made a sweeping motion with his palm as an excited expression washed over him. He said,

“Well, isn’t that just great?! I don’t write books.”

Gary sighed. He explained everything to Godfrey. Gary explained he had received “El Infierno Godfrey” a few weeks prior. He explained that his cat, Aggie, read the book. He explained Aggie had tormented him since. Gary explained he had become the pizza man, and he explained the typewriter. Godfrey laughed hysterically.

“My—Oh my! I love your story!”

“It’s true… All of it. It’s all true!”

Godfrey stopped walking. He stood still for a moment in the middle of the path. For a moment, Gary walked past him before noting the absence and rushing back toward him. Gary stared at Godfrey for a moment as he pressed his hand on his chin, staring down at the ground. Godfrey said,

“You know what? I believe you.”

Gary’s blank expression transformed into an enormous smile.

“You do?!”

“I do. There’s still some shit I don’t get, though.”

Gary shrugged.

“Why did I bother to leave you this shit? You’re the last person I’d trust to do anything, and, even if I were to die, death wouldn’t be the end for me.”

Godfrey continued,

“Here, let me show you.”

In an instant, Godfrey positioned his hand beside Godfrey’s throat. In a flash of light, he swung his open palm past Gary. Immediately, Gary’s vision blurred. He grasped at his neck once more. His fingers grew hot. He stared down at his hands. A sheet of blood covered them.

Gary awoke in a prison yard. Immediately, his eyes grew wide, and he grabbed at his throat. Nothing was wrong. Gary shakily pulled himself off the ground, standing idly for a moment in the grass. From behind him, a hand tapped his shoulder. Before him, Godfrey’s face popped into view. Gary flinched backwards, falling onto his back on the ground, holding both arms out in front of them. Godfrey chanted,

“Isn’t this neat, Gary?! You got reincarnated as a criminal. It sucks that you don’t get to remember your own backstory, but I figured it would be cooler if you kept your original memories.”

Gary backed away from Godfrey, back through the grass, as Godfrey followed him slowly. Godfrey continued,

“But, you know what?! You’re my new hero, Gary! I don’t know how you did it, but you did it… You were the first one to be reincarnated. And I looked into it. Every lifetime gets smaller–Fewer souls. The universe is going to end, and you’re going to be there to see it! I envy you, you stupid bastard!”

Gary hobbled up onto his feet and sprinted away from Godfrey. He scrambled down the yard, tears gathering down his face, holding both arms out in front of him. At once, he bumped into something, falling down onto his back once more. He opened his eyes. Before him was Godfrey. He said,

“You know, Gary. Someone is really looking out for you. I would be grateful, if I were you! I think Aggie wants you to last until the end, even if that means breaking you apart again and again… Whatever it takes to keep you healthy, I suppose!”

At once, the sky collapsed; the air twisted, and the ground trembled. Curdles of blood and misery filled Gary’s mouth. Beside Godfrey, a small white cat wandered up toward Gary. She licked his hand. As the universe dissolved, silence overtook him. He remained on the ground, curled up into a ball, clutching his eyes shut — the air grew cold. The soft, wet grass became rigid, and the wind died down. Surrounding him was the purest form of silence. Minutes passed. Gary opened his eyes.

Gary sat up from his place on the hardwood floor, leaning his head against the side of his bed. He pulled himself up to his feet, and he crept across his room, and he meandered down the hall, into his living room, where he stared out the window. There was no sign of his car — there was no sign of his driveway, or his lawn, or his street. There was nothing. He stared past that pane of glass and saw nothing but a plane of white.

Gary half-laughed, half-cried for a moment. He wandered around the side of his couch, where he lay down for a moment. He grabbed the remote from off the nearby coffee table, and he watched vapid soap operas.