By Bear

Every time the creator read those words his eyes rolled back into his head from the orgasm-like feelings he felt in his body. The creator. Nobody in his real life called him that. No, he named himself that, it fed his ego and enhanced that feeling he got from reading the words. Looking back on it, the creator couldn’t remember how it had gotten to this point. He remembered the early days, and how innocent the chatter was, and what was it they called him again? It didn’t matter. He is the creator now. Today’s log in featured 1,700 responses about baked goods. “Fools”, he thought. How can they be so wrapped up in such a simple task as baking a cake? He was annoyed with them, but he knew he needed them to feed his addiction. So the creator waited for the words.

And then … There they were.

“We need a new Todd.”

Yahtzee. The creator took a few minutes to recover from the feeling in his body that most people experience after sex and stood up from his squeaky, leather office chair. His house had been pitch black ever since he boarded up all of his windows, but the creator needed no light to walk to the cellar. He had made his way there many, many times before.

The stale air that hit him when he pulled the carpet back and lifted the hatch would have made most ill. It only stimulated the creator further. As he limped down the wooden stairs faint sounds of moaning could be heard. “The natives are restless today”, he thought as he hopped down on to the dirt floor so far below his home.

“What Todd shall I create today !?” He cackled. From within a makeshift cage, a dark-haired woman in her thirties started crying. She moved into the light to beg for mercy revealing yoga pants stained in blood, with no limbs to fill the pant legs. She mumbled some statistics about the percentage of serial killers who were conservatives. The creator moved on.

In another cage, hung from the rafters above, sat another female with short dark hair and a blood-stained hello kitty T-shirt. She tried to scream “You can burn in hell!” but it came out muffled and indistinguishable due to her missing voice box, and tongue. The creator chuckled to himself, knowing what she intended to say, and replied “See you there you little warrior.”

He passed another man, chained to a support post, lying there with nothing left to give. His once muscular physique lies there motionless due to the many missing muscles within his skin. The creator smiled and whispered, “Oh Dvandal, you put up a good fight my friend.”

Finally, to his workshop. The creator opened the lock on the thick steel doors to reveal shadows of his creations. He turns on the swinging incandescent bulb to illuminate hundreds of lifeless “bodies” hung from the ceiling with wire. Each wearing a brunette wig and dark rimmed glasses. He marveled at some of the more creative designs. The Todd-o-puss being his current favorite. He stood back and marveled at his hundreds of “Todds” he had made, excited to fill the request from his public for a “New Todd”. The creator breathed in deeply, while sharpening his tools, and wonders to himself, “What did I do before I was capable of all this? Back when I was … what was it again? Oh yea. Happy.”