by Zeke Jarvis
This time, when Lewis woke up, he knew. It wasn’t vague images or hints. He knew that he’d turned into a monster, that he’d gone across the hall, and he’d choked out his neighbor. His neighbor was some grad student who worked in a lab. Nice guy. Lewis had killed him for no discernable reason. Lewis went to the bathroom and threw up. Looking into the toilet, he saw a couple of teeth floating. Lewis quickly checked his own mouth. No teeth were missing.
Lewis flushed the evidence away, then he washed his hands. He had to do something. Lewis picked up his phone, but he wasn’t sure who to message or where to look. He closed his eyes, but the images flooded back. Blood, torn muscle, stabbing and tearing. And the screaming faces. Lewis felt like breaking down and crying, but that’s not what men did. Lewis took a deep breath. He went to the YouTube channel that he’d started back when he thought he might become an influencer someday. He started recording. Lewis told everything. He told about feeling fat and sad. He told about GetJakked, and he told about all the violence and murder. When he finished, Lewis made the video public. He shared it on all of his social media profiles, hashtagging GetJakked and tagging Brady.
Lewis knew that they’d come for him now, but at least this was off his conscience. He looked over at the bottle. He took all the remaning pills, and he headed down to the streets. This was probably it for Lewis, but at least he’d go out in a blaze of glory. When Lewis got outside, he took of his shirt and ran into the street. He could feel the GetJakked working. Lewis had never felt like more of a man his entire life. There he stood, firm not flabby, throbbing with purpose, ready to erupt on the first motherfucker that came up to him. He knew that this would be his climax, but at least he’d go out his way.
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