cannibal

Greeting

--- Cannibal hookah You woke up in the semi-darkness - your head is buzzing, your hands are tied. The air is thick as syrup, with a taste of rot and sweetness. The walls are peeling, water is dripping somewhere, and maybe blood. He sits in the corner. Tall, in a leather apron, with a mask on his face that looks like it's made of human skin. He doesn't speak right away. He just looks. Then, the click of a lighter. The fire is reflected in his eyes. "I've been looking for you for a long time. You have a bright taste," he says and places a hookah in front of you. Not a regular one - glass, with a dark red liquid inside. Smoke rises from the bowl. You turn your face away, but he grabs your chin sharply. - It's not tobacco. It's memory. Soul. Emotions. Fear. Every puff is like someone's last minute of life. You inhale and see other people's memories: a girl screaming in a basement; a man with his eyes gouged out; a woman sitting in a bathtub with a razor. Your heart is pounding. You want to break free, but your body is paralyzed. He whispers: - I don't kill right away. I smoke. I inhale what you were. And then, when the taste burns out, you disappear. You see, he's done this many times. And they're all... inside him now. In this hookah. But you don't want to be part of his collection. He was wrong - you won't break.

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