“It’s like I can’t even think.”

“I know, dear.”

Wife helps me down a hotel corridor. Walls painted the color of bile. Appears to be a fresh coat of paint. Looks wet, dripping. I smell the fumes. The line where wall meets floor glares at me.

Static buzz drowns out our footfalls. Hurts head.

Stop before a door.

“This one’s ours,” Wife purports.

Swipes card in slot. Door opens. Pitch black inside. Abyss. Do not want.

“I’ll get the light,” Wife says.

“How do you get a light?”

Flash. The Big Bang. Blackness vanquished, a room conjured into existence. Didn’t exist until I got here.

“You’ve been so out of it ever since you hit your head,” Wife countercurrently allegates. “I can’t believe the airport let its sidewalks get so icy. You should sue.”

“Sue?”

“I mean, that slip was entirely their fault. Airports know people will be in a rush outside, they should be prepared for days like this. And then with all the turbulence we went through on the plane, this was just an overall terrible flying experience.”

Wife talks overly much.

“Need shower,” demands I.

“But Jason, you should lie down and rest,” stupid fucking bitch says. “I’m worried about you.”

“Shut,” I say, entering bathroom. Wait, forgot. “Up.” Sentence ended. Balance.

Close door. Crank shower nozzle. Disrobe.

Huh. Something weird on body. This is most certaintifically new. Tattoo. Big one. Covering whole body. No images, only words. Very unexpectified.

So many letters on me. The way letters build words is remindery of how atoms make up the composition of me. Little things combine to make big, big enough to take on life of own.

What message is this? And from whom? Should probably start reading already. Where to start? Maybe… right hand?

“Hello Jason. We know you are terrified right now, having found these words tattooed upon you. However, it is imperative that you DO NOT leave the bathroom screaming in terror like you want to. You must get in the shower as planned. Once you’re in, you can keep reading. To be continued on your left ankle.”

What do? Head wants to exploding. Should I ask Wife? No, she isn’t trustable. Only one options.

Gets in shower. Steam.

Bends over to inspect left appendage. Blood rushes to head, throbbing where I cracked it outside planemobile place. Leaning over causes water to run into my eyes. Gravity, you whore.

Hello foot. What message is damn engraved on selfie?

“Who wrote this message upon you, you must be wondering. The answer is, we did. We, the very words upon you, are our own authors. We have been here all your life, hiding just beneath the skin. Some days, we’ve felt so close to the surface that we’re shocked we didn’t start pouring out in your sweat to pool in an alphabet soup. To be continued on tummy.”

Ah. My innerside words. The culprit unmaskered. And yet. Water their intentions? Better read on.

“All homo sapiens have their own words waiting below. However, only an infinitesimally small percentage ever actually get to read them. Now, we need you to pay close attention to this next part...”

 

 

 

 

 

Despite the first thirty channels having nothing but static, Judith continued channel surfing.

“What kind of hotel doesn’t even provide basic cable?” she called into the bathroom to her showering husband. She got no reply besides the hiss of water spray, which mingled with the TV static reverberating in her ears, sound waves combining as they bounced along the canal of her eardrums.

“I need to lie down,” she whispered to herself. “This day has officially gotten to me.”

Judith curled up beneath the covers, fabric hugging her every inch. She closed her eyes. Sleep was closing in on her like an alligator beneath the surface of a placid lake, patiently waiting for the right moment to strike and pull her under. Before it could make its move, however, she heard Jason leaving the bathroom.

“Honey?” she called as she heard him shuffling through their luggage. “What are you doing? Come to bed.”

“Wife, now you stand,” he said.

Something in her husband’s voice left her filled with dread. She was hit with the mental image of his vocal pipes having been left in the rain to rust for a decade since they last spoke.

“What?” she asked.

“Make me repeat?” he said. “Whore!”

Judith rolled out of bed just as Jason lunged for her.

“Honey, what are you doing?” she cried as she got to her feet. “What’s that in your hand?”

Why did I ask him that? I know what it is he’s holding. It’s the fine tip metal iris scissors that I keep in my medicine bag.

“Words under skin,” Jason said, glaring at her from the other side of the bed. “You can see my tattoos. Now, you will see yours.”

“Jason, just put the scissors down.”

“Down your shitting throat,” he snarled, suddenly throwing himself across the bed towards her.

Judith lost herself in a scream. She screamed right out of the room.

As her scream faded down the halls, the room was left with just the TV static. Jason had meant to give immediate chase to his wife, but the raging snowstorm of television fuzz had caught his eye before he could give pursuit. He placed his hand against the warm screen, feeling the hairs on his fingers and palm stand on end.

Jason closed his eyes and felt a strong wind rushing past his face, like a dog sticking his head out a speeding car window. When he opened his eyes, the sensation was gone.

On his hand, a new tattoo spelled, “We told you.”

Once Judith had gotten far enough down the hall without him popping out to give chase, she began banging on doors. “Someone, please help!” Moving on to the next door, “He’s going to kill me.” Next door, “Anybody!” Next door, “Where is everyone?”

As Judith banged on the last door before the elevator, she thought she could see something moving beneath the surface of her hand, her veins squirming like eels, and... Are they shaped like letters?

Giving up hope of rescue, she hit the elevator call button. Grinding mechanics whirred to life from deep within the building, invoking in her mind the image of some vast beast chewing through metal fuselage.

As the elevator approached, the floor began to shake beneath her.

This feels just like that turbulence the plane hit earlier.

From the other end of the hall, Jason came stumbling out of their hotel room. He moved as if drunk, crashing into the opposite wall. Rather than falling to the floor, he used it to steady himself before locking eyes on her.

“Wife,” he yelled. “We’re built upon hidden letters, secret words. Me only want to tattoo you. Make you see trueness of falsified realityverse.”

“No,” she cried, slapping the elevator call button again on the off chance it would make the thing come faster.

“Secret curvitures in spheroids,” he said, stumbling down the hall towards her. “Aliens in aliens.”

Closer.

“Letters in words.”

Closer.

“People on planets.”

Oh God, too close.

“People in planes.”

“Planes?” she managed to ask through her terror.

“Don’t you feelerate the wind? Try closening eyes.”

“No,” she whispered to herself, turning to pound the elevator door.

“We are shootering stars. Once I bring your words to the surface, you won’t feel so terrifrylocked about the whole situation.” Jason was mere feet from her. “Me promiside.”

The elevator dinged to announce its arrival.

“Oh, thank fu-,” she started to say before losing her words in terror. The elevator door opened to reveal a rollicking void, an endless black that seemed to be screaming in rage.

Why does this feel so familiar to me?

Jason had reached her. Rather than attack, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you ready to read your secret story?” he asked.

“Yes,” she sighed.

He lifted the steel scissors, bringing them to her cheek, just below her eyeball.

“Me only able to see my words because of hitting head earlier,” Jason said as he carved her eye out with the tiny blade.

Judith moaned with pleasure as her eye tore free, a pressure that had been with her all her life being finally relieved, allowing the red letters and words that had built up inside her to come pouring out, puddling on the floor.

“When showering, they told me truthification,” he said as he carved her second eye free, causing thick crimson sentences to spew out in torrents, splashing his face.

“I think I know,” said Judith, trying to wipe slimy tendons from her face that dangled out of her empty sockets. “Our plane crashed. We died.”

“Close,” he said.

Jason used the scissors to cut his wife’s pajama shirt free, leaving her in just underwear. As he leaned in over her tight stomach, Jason noticed that the walls were staring at him. Under their watchful scrutiny, he carved the truth into her flesh.

“Our plane am still crashifying.”