Autoficiality
by G.X. Jupitter-Larsen


He thinks it might be a pig with a large horn for a nose. He's not sure. Nobody who's seen it is sure. It's about the same size and shape as your basic farm pig. It happened in the old industrial part of town; he just found it by the road one day, and took a shining to it. He named it Walter. Wasn't even sure if it was male or female. Didn't much matter to Jake.

Jake was a fire-breather working the local club scene; the best in town. And fire-breathing was all he cared about. That and this pig-thing-pet of his.

A common sight. Jake and Walter walking up and down the main drag late night. Jake warming up the chilly night air with his talents. It pays to advertise. And Walter repeatedly making these strange sounds with its beak-like mouth. It was an very high-pitch resonance that both repulsed and enticed you.

Enticed with quivers in depths that burned black. And repulsed with jiggles that scraped the bloody vigor right out of you.

What made Jake the best fire-breather around was how he did it so effortlessly. So smooth and simple. As if he really was exhaling the flames from his lungs after each inhale. Inhaling and exhaling.

Inhaling and exhaling was what everyone was doing. All the people who had gathered around to watch Jake's fiery demonstration this one fall night. Gathered around with a red glow on all their faces. Gathered around while Walter throbed out his pulsations. Gathered around while a single thought kindled in all their minds. In all their minds. A single notion burned in their cultivation and refinement.

Nothing too dramatic. None of them were thinking about eternity and infinity as two unconnected directions. Nor did any of them think about heritage being voluntary.

They all just thought about how good the warmth of the fire felt against their cold skin. Not too dramatic, but still pretty profound.