Motionless for some time, and then roused, it unfurls itself from the shoddy remains of a once ornate bedpost, each limb unsticking from the cold brass with a pop of suction, leaving behind a viscous residue, misshapen and wrong. It takes its first breath of the day, emitting a low hiss that grows upon itself and eventually amounts to a ragged breath, a wheeze that gives color to the air. Its innumerable limbs unstuck, the creature lurches across the bed and plops on to the floor with the stomach-churning sound of raw meat being dropped on linoleum. The body contracts and releases itself like a fire bellow, a flow of orange liquid dripping from the very same orifice that its now steady breath rasps through.
A slight sliver of light cuts through the darkness at ground level, the result of a lamp being turned on beyond the room's singular door. This cut of light reveals the creature, malformed and grotesque. An imperfect monster coated in a thick layer of bulbous pustules, each its own quivering mass of uncertain mortality, forever at the brink of bursting. Its complexion notwithstanding, the creature's body resembles a bloated python, minutes after its feast of prey roughly three times its width. The head protrudes as its own awkward pimple from the very top, discordant with the rest of its being. But it is its extremities that engender the most disgust, they themselves not quite tentacles, but neither are they arms nor legs. Instead, they are like that of a squid with five smaller appendages protruding from each elongated tentacle, some horrific and unnatural bastardization of a normal human arm. It is with these limbs that the creature does crawl across the ground, wheezing grayish smoke into the air and leaving a trail of clear liquid, its viscosity similar to that of the blood-riddled spit coughed up by a soldier dying upon the battlefield.
With a sudden creak, a metal flap is opened at the base of the door, and a large golden bowl is tossed inside, landing with a thud at the feet(?) of the creature. The contents, still shivering from impact, are the fatty remains of long-gone Trump steaks, still caked in a day-old layer of grease and steak sauce. The creature rumbles with delight, sputtering a bit as its mouth forms a wide opening. The airflow that erupts from within bends the bowl like a powerful heat, warping it irreparably. Using its tentacles, the creature shovels the lot into its mouth, bowl and all, and packs it into the lumpy folds of its body, filling in the parts that sag until they are made taut. Fully formed, the monster manages to bring itself upright, steadying itself with a warped and tiny paw, newly developed from the primordial appendage that once slithered unconsciously at its side.
The creature doubles over. It grips the sides of the room, no more than three feet wide, and orients its orifice to the floor, arching its back and beginning a sequence of retching that creates its loudest noise of the day (so far). The attendants outside shuffle back and forth and stare stoically ahead, the haunting cacophony within a daily ritual they have become far too accustomed to. Eventually, from the creature's maw, a wiry orange object discharges, dropping to the floor with a wet splatter. This profane spawn moves with its own sense of purpose and affectionately crawls towards the creature, cooing with delight. Scrambling up its side, it eventually rests upon the monster's pate, contorting itself into a more permanent fixture for the day.
This unholy union complete, the monster steps forward, grunting and heaving, and scratches at the door twice. Immediately, a single phone it sent through the open slot. The creature reaches for it with tiny phalanges and pulls it towards its face. Its breath lowers to a ragged whisper once again, cut short by the revelations now displayed on this tiny computerized link to the outside world. The creature pores over it and begins to bristle, almost angrily, but with such wild intensity that it resembles fear. It uses the almost microscopic extremities of its now fully formed hand to write the following:
Watched protests yesterday but was under the impression that we just had an election! Why didn't these people vote? Celebs hurt cause badly.— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) January 22, 2017
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