I am your lust, your love, your muse, your Narcissus. I am your protector, your therapy, your solace, your bait. Occasionally, I am your weapon. I am a reflection of the life you choose to lead.
I can stretch, bend, mold to your whims, and I can drain you of your savings faster than the sunset can flash its elusive green. I can lure you. Taunt you. Torment you. I can stop you dead in your tracks, bring you to your knees, and make you drool like a Pavlovian dog.
Cross me and I will give you blisters. Corns. Bunions. Ringworm. I will strike you with pedial afflictions you cannot even pronounce. Inflict pain indescribable. Spawn growths so grotesque the ground you tread will recoil in disgust and falter beneath you. Treat me wrong and I will make you ooze juices of colors and viscosities the human body is otherwise loath to produce. Treat me wrong, and when you part with me, I will permeate your being with a stench worse than the rotting entrails of fish market castaways.
Treat me nice and I will make you envied, admired, looked upon in awe. I will massage your ego into a state of eternal bliss. Choose me wisely and I will lift you up. I will carry you to the ends of the earth. I will make you walk on air. Choose me wisely and I. Will. Get. You. Laid.
Submitted by the Erin Carstens of Seattle, WA
Super Fantastic Runner Up
Manolo’s Super Fantastic Essay Contest
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