saintgomi

He begins by eating. Razor blades. Shattered safety glass from the windshields of abandoned cars. Bolls of barbwire. His body soon grows accustomed to this sharp and malignant diet. He first notices spikes working their way up through the skin of his knuckles. His tongue bristles with glass and metal fragments. He redoubles his effeorts, this time inserting glass and sharpened razors directly into his skin. One morning, after a troubled sleep, his skull has cracked like a hardboiled egg, allowing him to slide his spiked baubles deep into his brain.

His eyes glaze over, like stained glass. His teeth are chrome spikes. His body drops flesh and fat, useless baggage for a creature who is transforming into something like a living scimitar.

His friends desert him. His lovers abandon him. He finds them one by one and pulls them close for a last embrace. They slide across his polished razor torso and fall in pieces to the ground, like fresh meat in a butcher's window.

He moves faster and faster, his body no longer shifting the molecules that make up the atmosphere, but slicing through them. He rends his way through air, through walls, trees, parked cars, attack dogs, skyscrapers, parking meters and granite hills until time and space split open before him. He stares deep into the rip in the universe. Darkness. Swirling stars. Glowing, crystalline land. Time races like flying insects at the edges of the rip, refracted in the dazzling facets of his glass eyes. He holds his breath and steps through the rip.