Subjugation

"You trust me, right? Like..."

The crackly speaker on the phone sounded off Kyle's response, and a resounding "What do you think dumbass? Of course I do." caused Tom to sigh. He had to explain this shit before it was too late, but..

"Ok, listen man, I uh...fuck, how do I explain this..."

His mind was racing, this was insane. He had to be off his fucking rocker at this point, there's no better explanation for it.

Nevertheless, he had to do this. "Sonic.exe. You remember Sonic.exe, right?"

Kyle responded after a second of thinking, "That old shitty internet story about demon Sonic or whatever?"

Tom almost cringed when he said that. At least he wouldn't have to explain the story to him.

After swallowing his pride, Tom simply stated the truth. "I wrote that. I wrote Sonic.exe."

Kyle was silent for a bit. Then he started laughing. Hard.

"You fucking wrote that thing?!"

"Yes! Yes I did! And-"

"AND you put ME in it?"

Kyle's laughter was finally dying down, Tom could get a word in, finally...

"Yes, I made the stupid fucking Sonic story, I know that it's funny and all but LISTEN man."

Kyle fully got his composure back, "Yeah, alright, what was it? No way you called me at 2 in the morning just for that."

He couldn't tell Kyle the truth, that was for certain. Even Tom wasn't sure what had happened the past couple of days. He could tell Kyle about the messages he's been receiving, the constant feeling of being watched, maybe even the security system detecting something on the porch when there was nothing. That was all believeable. Weird, but believable.

What wasn't believeable were the things those messages had said - things only Tom should've known. Or how everyone who got popular off of his shitty Sonic story always seemed to be on an obituary site, without fail. Or maybe how he came home from work and could swear things weren't how he left them.

"Earth to captain Tom, you there?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm here. I just...the past few days, man."

"It's fine, take your time dude."

What happened to him? All of this made him realize how pathetic his life really was. The only thing he would ever be known for is a story that he couldn't even bare to look at anymore. He wanted to be a writer when he was a kid. He still did, honestly, but that story hung over him like a knife. A constant reminder of how incompetent he really was.

"You're not that bad, Tom."

"Huh?"

"You think you're a bad writer, but-"

"Who the fuck is this?"

"Calm down Tom..."

"Who the fuck are you?! What the fuck did you do to Kyle..."

"You made me. That's what you did. Do you know how popular I became?"

His voice gave up the ruse of sounding like Kyle. It was a raspy, quiet voice, almost like an old man.

"Just tell me what the Hell you did to Kyle. You can hurt me, just - not him, fucking please."

"Look behind you."

"What?"

"I said. Look behind you."

Tom put the phone down and swiveled around.

He felt like his heart dropped into his stomach.

He didn't know what he was looking at. It was shaped like Sonic, its limbs stretched out too far - like it was outgrowing its own skin. The hands and gloves were clearly just lumps of discolored flesh with razor sharp edges jutting out, and the face was just a mess of colors smeared together. Hundreds of little holes dotted the face, moving and twitching when the creature spoke.

"Look what you made."

Tom felt like screaming, but the sound got hitched in his throat.

"Aren't you proud of me? I'm growing and spreading."

It kept getting closer, step by step. The smell hadn't hit him before, but it did now. Burnt flesh. Decay. Rot.

"I can be stronger. You want me to be stronger, right? I'm your legacy, after all."

Tom stammered, "What the fuck are you?"

The creature coldly, almost nonchalantly replied, "The only thing you'll be remembered for."

It hitched those last words out like it was in pain.

"But I'm dying. I'm rotting away. I'm being forgotten."

"What - what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Look at what you did to me."

It used the claw shaped glove to grab some of the holes on its face, and it pulled hard, peeling off the layer of skin and flinging the slab of meat to the floor. Disgusting yellow fluid, curdled and rotting, poured out of the now gaping wound that covered its whole face, and in the center...

Was a candle. Barely keeping itself lit.

It sounded like it was sobbing, and then it spoke - seemingly choking on what could've been its own rotten blood, "It hurts so much."

Tom almost felt bad for it. Why did he feel bad for it?

"I can tell you what it feels like. Being forgotten, withering away, the slough of my skin... But what I can't tell you is how much I still want to live."

Why wasn't Tom scared? Even as it got closer, he still didn't want to get away.

"You gave me life...but you tried to cull me. You erased your vision from this world and let others take it. And look what it's done to me..."

It was limping, looking like it was barely standing, before it suddenly collapsed onto its knees right in front of Tom.

"I can give you whatever you need, anything, as long as you give me your voice again. Let me feed on their nightmares, and anything you want will be yours."

Tom felt something strange stir inside him.

This was what power felt like. This was what respect felt like.

He supposed he could give writing another shot.