[Trigger warnings: body horror, self-harm]
There was a thin network of strings connecting every human to every other human in the city of Remorse. Even if people moved about in great big circles there was always at least one string of pink fleshlike matter connecting them to the network.
In Remorse there were no doors or windows, just holes in their walls wherethrough the fleshlike could be stretched, isolation was never an issue. No-one could be alone.
It was pretty great.
Sometimes visitors would come into town and they had to do acrobatics to move around what with the fleshlike being everywhere and constantly in flux, and they would feel strange when the pink touched them, like they’d done something wrong. They would shiver then, but the citizens – the humans – of Remorse would ensure their safety, touch their shoulder, kiss them, take their hats, cut tiny holes in their skin and attach the fleshlike hymenal, tell them it’s okay to be scared.
It is okay to be scared.
Cutting in the flimmy hurts a person, every human of Remorse would feel that as they are all connected to the fleshlike, they would precise exact vengeance upon any infringing who tried, but no-one would try. But no-one is that cruel.
However, a point worthy of note, it is not like just because of the pink stringy fleshlike that every law-abiding happy in the collective knows everybody else; they still had relationships like humans do, they still got to know each other over coffee and beer, you see. And wine and tea and water. Chocolate and blood. Not blood.
An Andréa was confronted with a pane of glass, and she was scared, an excellent example of the fleshlike mentality, Remorse’s feathers.
But Yasho knew that, as he softly caressed a lover Stephen, the binding fleshlike they would create between them was not so they could be more in pace, in touch, in tune, intact, but it was nice. He leaned over to kiss him on the stubble and the spot where stubble gave way to smoother skin, as he drew his edgy over the sides of a Stephen. He kissed the place he was about to cut. And it would hurt, a little. Both their thin, fleshlike stretched out of the room, snagging on edges, until they met up with two: Dave and Ursula, very far away from each other. Then to a Micky and an Eveline, to a Yuki and a Martina, until they met up at a Gunto. That was of course far too far, felt Yasho and though they could do circles until, it felt better to do it this way.
Kissed and cut, and rubbed his smoother fleshlike over the naked hurt skin of Stephen, membraneous giving way and some vessels growing like beautiful weed, turning fleshlike blue purple blue red and then they both felt the pain as it abated.
A scared Lindsey thought it was okay to be scared. There was nothing the collective humans gained biologically from the biologically fleshlike, yet there it was and almost like a dream where you hop forward and back and never make sense he felt his organs abandoning him, untruthful hurtful slicing painmaker, painmaker; it’s okay to be wholly terrified and have your hair fall out. They crawled with slowly, through the thin, but at the same time strangling so he couldn’t speak and it all hurt so much, diseaseous, pestlike fleshlike couldn’t stand it. Thin out into nothing and be part of the network and let fleshlike be gesturous love and leave it alone.
The feathers of Remorse flyful, futureful, and fleshlike of course. Five years later was the fire with the burning, there was fires in all’s eyes and pain in all’s fleshlike faces, decisionless and burning and segmented, dangerous fleshlike wanted its parts back.