Gary clutched the leather-bound book against his chest—El Infierno Godfrey. He stood up against the blinding white floor beside the side of his home, and he walked around the outside, stopping just before the corner of his house. He peered around toward his front door, where he noticed another man pacing into his home. Gary flinched for a moment. He stormed forward, glaring up toward the front of his house. Behind him, light footsteps echoed around the back of his home — he did not notice.

Gary sprinted up the front steps, looking around to see what was happening. The front door slammed shut, just before his face; Gary leaned to the side, staring through the curtains draped over a nearby window. He saw two men clad in tan robes. One spoke to the other. A moment passed. At once, the man’s flesh erupted, spraying out flesh and blood as he collapsed to the ground. Gary gasped, and he thought to himself: Do you have any idea how hard that is to wash out?!

Creak. The front door cracked open. Gary stumbled into his home. He glanced about his living room, about the circle of various personalities, lining his kitchen, lining the sides of his living room, backed up down the hall, leading into his bedroom. He glanced at the many streaks of flesh and blood gathered about his home. The door slammed shut behind him.

At once, Gary stumbled inside. A ring of chalk settled at the center of the room, running around the couch at its center. Behind him, the room fell silent. Another man stepped out of the crowd, stopping just before Gary. He whipped a book out from his side—that same book Gary was holding — and he held it out before him. At once, a shimmering glow shone out from behind the book, casting the man’s face in an ethereal light. He paced up before the body. Disjointed segments of his body bubbled up. Pores of air grew in his flesh. As if he were a glass of boiling water, these bubbles of hair ascended his figure before wafting away into the air.

The man slunk toward Gary as Gary backed up against the edge of the ring. Behind him, the crowd gathered at the edge of that ring. Gary understood he had made a mistake. He understood he had to maintain his place within the ring. Gary grabbed the book from his side — El Infierno Godfrey — and he threw it open to a random page. At once, sparks flew from Gary’s fingertips, searing the wooden floors as they struck the ground. Still, the man approached Gary incessantly. The air around Gary grew hot; he sweat profusely. Beneath the other man’s feet, the floor sparked, leaving black stains everywhere he went.

A crackling sensation made its way up Gary’s arm. At once, the man reached for Gary. Gary clasped his eyes shut, and he stuck his arm out before him. There was a sound, like a pinata being struck, like a cracking bone—a dull snap that resonated throughout the room. The hot, viscous fluid drenched Gary. He opened his eyes. The man before him had disappeared, leaving behind only a red stain all throughout the room. Gary’s arms trembled and his eyes fell back to look at the man — the stain… Just then, a woman stepped out of the crowd and into the chalk circle. Gary glanced back down at the book. Lifetimes passed—time and time again. Individuals stepped into the ring, only to be obliterated by forces beyond their comprehension. Gary stood still, quivering, drenched in the others.

Gary’s vision blurred. For a moment, he forgot why he was alive. The flesh writhed. Blood splattered all throughout the room, shimmied, and it slithered off of the sporadic surfaces throughout the room, upon which it spread. The writhing mass coagulated overtop the couch, falling up toward the ceiling. Its color shifted as the fluid condensed into a ball, the black goop still flowing across its surface, around which muscles sprouted. Bones, tendons, and organs sprouted. Aggie stood at the center of the ring. Her form was regular. Her skin was shiny and smooth. Aggie was enormous; the top of her head brushed up against the ceiling as she stared down toward Gary.

Sweat beaded down Gary’s forehead. At once, he turned on his heel, and he darted toward the kitchen. He threw himself against the counter in a hurry, and he tossed open the refrigerator door, reaching deep into the back of the refrigerator, and he drew out his pistol. Gary sprinted back into the living room as Aggie stood silently staring down at Gary. For a moment, tears streamed down Gary’s face. He pointed the gun up toward her, and he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He squeezed the trigger again and again as he stumbled backward, panic washing over his face. His hands were shaking, and he could feel the weight of his gun and his stomach clenching. Gary kneeled down, placing his hands on his back, and he stared into the darkness, watching aggie intently. Grief was pouring over him, but he could contain it. No pain or anguish. No pain ever. He stood up, and his heart beat strangely. He looked back over his shoulder. The room was already dark, and Gary was alone. His eyes went wide, and his head shook.

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Gary brought his hand up to his face, and he rubbed his eyes for a moment. It was sticky. The home was dimly lit. Gary clutched the book in his right hand. His neck was sore. Gary stared down toward the book, a red dictionary, laden with scribbles and incoherent ramblings. He dropped the book to the floor with a resounding thud. A burning sensation filled his fingertips. For a moment, Gary stood still. He gazed into the corner of his living room, toward his coat rack. His pizza-delivery hat and jacket were gone. He thought to himself, Oh no! I must have misplaced them.

Then Gary jerked his gaze around behind him. The white void he had grown accustomed to was gone. There was no more blindingly bright glow. He paced forth, stopping just behind the kitchen counter. His car was in the driveway. There were people walking in the street. Gary paused—there was a horrifying smell, resounding throughout his home. He swiveled around, pacing back into his living room. The stench grew stronger. He turned to face his room. The stench grew stronger. He stepped into the hall. He pulled open the door to his room. It was overpowering. Gary pressed his hand over his nose as he paced into his bedroom. There was a noise behind him. Gary jumped. The house was settling. He returned his focus to the bedroom. Carefully, he trotted over to his bed. There was a thin lump underneath the covers. Flies fluttered over his bedsheets—there was a viscous stain bleeding through the covers.

Gary reached for the sheets and threw them onto the floor. Curled up in a ball, lying motionless in the center of the bed, Gary found Aggie. There was a bullet wound through her chest. Sirens approached his home from outside, settling beside his window. Gary turned around and pulled away the curtains to his bedroom window as tears silently fell down his face. There were police cars stopped outside his home. Gary turned around and faced back toward the hall. The bedroom TV was still on. It was on mute, but its bright lights filled the otherwise dim room with color—a soap opera. The man stomped down the hallway. The bathroom light was on. He reached for the handle, and he pushed open the bathroom door.

Curiously, there was a typewriter resting on the kitchen counter. The man continued through the bathroom, his boots squishing against the sticky linoleum floors. The shower curtains were closed. He proceeded toward them, throwing them wide open. He stared down into the tub. It was full of ice, over which a blood-soaked man was lying naked — it was Gary. The man thought to himself, Am I Gary? He stared down at his hands. Blood drenched them. There was a splatter on the sleeve of his jacket. Instinctively, he took off his hat, tossing it into the kitchen sink. There was a pizza-related logo printed on its face. He pulled off his black jacket — he tossed it into the tub, covering up Gary’s middle section. There was a pizza logo on its back.

He backpedaled, back out into the hall. Gary scampered into the living room. He wandered up toward the front door, pushed it open, and stepped outside. Just outside his front door stood a few police officers, staring back at him with wide eyes. He wandered toward them. Without warning, one of them snatched out a gun. He shot Gary. He could feel his soul flowing out of his body. Gary stood on his doorstep, staring down toward his body. The body was still holding the pistol in his hand. Ash was spilling out of his pockets.

Gary shrugged, and he paced back inside. He paced through the living room, down the hall, and into the bathroom. Gary snatched the typewriter from off the counter and wandered back into the living room, where he lay down on the couch, placing the typewriter on top of his stomach. He typed: This isn’t right. I’ve seen my soul before. My name is not Danny. I know that. I’m Gary. Aggie isn’t dead. The world is already gone. This is all her — and the rest is just me. Gary chuckled to himself. The world is ending.

Gary brought his hand up to his face, and he rubbed his eyes for a moment. Aggie stood at the center of the living room. Her form was regular. Her skin was shiny and smooth. Aggie was enormous; the top of her head brushed up against the ceiling as she stared down toward Gary. He froze. He stood there, motionlessly. Gary smiled as Aggie lunged toward him—his body collapsed immediately into a marionette of flesh. Still, Gary maintained a smile on his face.