Arnold Bayswater, goes by Cujo
he/him - late 20s

grabbed his alias from a Stephen King book he hasn't read

theme: Anger

Impulsive kid who made a deal with an entity beyond his comprehension in exchange for the power he so desperately needed over his life. His home life was awful, his school life perhaps even worse, and he just wanted a little space to breathe. Or maybe that's what he told himself, but was it true?

Whatever he wanted, the reality is he left behind a trail of destruction, a fire in his wake, and disappeared into the woods and the headlines of the local newspapers.

But that was years ago. This is now.


He walks the bizarre, fog-enclosed streets of a little town he'd driven into on one dismal drizzly morning, the kind that threatens to snow but instead lashes your car with blinding rain that freezes on impact. He'd stopped the car to get out, stretch his legs a bit, put some gas in the thing, and get right back on the road - but it turned out the place he'd stopped was a ghost town. The lights were on at the gas station, but nobody was there. He heard voices behind the counter, but nobody stood there.

But that was [ how long ago was it ]? This is now.


The edges of the street were missing then. They're still missing. He wants to go home.

But that was [ it's been too long ] [ oh my god it's been so long ]. This is now.