Miles away on the outskirts of towna a deserted area called the Video-Sector captured my imagination with its dull sense of style and drab features. Its long streets were detached from the rest of nearby society, a sense of foreboding hanging over every empty home. Nobody went there. Visibly, it appeared low key and low rent, but there was nothing overtly scary about it. I wondered why people ignored it, avoided it, gossiped about it. The entire area had been empty from before I was born, a failed project from fifty years ago. I passed by the Video-Sector occasionally, and I found myself transfixed to the idea of it. An entire society of nobody. I made up my mind, deciding on visiting it weeks before I actually gained the courage to make my move. The area seemed entirely deserted. I wandered abandoned streets and passed semi-boarded houses. Clouds overhead pushed away the sun, filtering out the light. It was windy, but the air felt stale in my throat.

There was no graffiti anywhere. No bright symbols to stare at, think about, be afraid of. Their absence was entirely more foreboding than their presence. Not even gangs paid attention to the empty neighbourhood. Everyone had either forgotten it was there, or didn’t want to think about it. The place made people uneasy. Nobody explored the area, or wanted to go into it. These places usually attracted young boys like flies to a flashlight, but there was nobody else around. You could probably move in. Never pay property taxes, mortgages, rent, or whatever. Just squat and build a heatless life for yourself. Nobody would notice. You could hunt in any of the surrounding fields. Each house was greyer and smaller than the one before it, culminating in a series of small, concrete boxes labelled "House Live." A low income neighbourhood, the way it was set up allowed the poor to easily differentiate themselves from people even worse off than them. Desolate streets and empty, brownish yards didn’t exactly spark my imagination. I could hardly bring myself to pay attention to anything, aside from taking casual internal notes.
“That’s an okay fence… Neat sidewalk.” There was nothing interesting to see or speak of. If only because it completely lacked anything of interest or importance, I was charmed. Local business was non-existent, like everything else. I passed by a dead store. Mark’s Placemats.

A whistling sound vibrated in my ears, the light winds wrapping around my head, pushing back my hair. I heard a noise. A real noise. A loud "Glompsch" accompanied by what sounded like choking. A gasping. I felt my skin crawl and my senses heighten. I could feel fleshy goose bumps coming over my skin like a wave of nervous fear. Everything told me that I should leave. The feeling of unease I had felt the entire trip crashed into me like a massive wave, trying to pull me back towards shore, unable to compete with an undertow of conscience. Quietly, I made my way up a long gravel driveway, the rocks displacing and scraping together under my feet. Any would-be, could-be murderers heard me a mile off. A single step at a time, I crept towards the noise. I probably looked like a gigantic idiot. A nearly invisible backyard seemed to be where the noise was coming from. The houses were so tightly packed it was impossible to see behind without getting very up close. I came up to the door and leaned against the solid concrete wall. I was anxious. What if it was gangsters? Executing somebody? Executing me?

Peering around the corner got me nowhere. I couldn’t see anything but the wall of the other house. My neck refused to crane far enough to see what was going on and I cursed below my breath.
“Fuck.” The low rental apartments that garnished the area were empty. Every single one human free. I was the only possibility for a hero. I’d always wanted to be a hero. No police even bothered to patrol the Video-Sector’s forgotten streets. A No-Man’s-Land like this didn’t want or need protection. I knew if I tried hard enough, I’d be able to climb up onto the roof. I could hear spattering and dripping in the backyard. I didn't know what it was. The occasional

"glompsch bleh" sound filled me with a sense of urgency. The hair on the back of my neck prickled outwards, trying to escape. I knew the situation was wrong. Dangerous. Upsetting. I felt something beyond the rational feeling of fear. It said
“Move and leave. You do not want to be here.” An exterior force working inside of me to coerce my actions. And yet all I could think about was the situation at hand. That somebody might be in trouble. If the entire place wasn't packed so fucking tight, I could've gotten a better angle at the corner of the house, but there was no way I could see what was back there without making myself visible to what could be a horrible danger.

I grabbed the windowsill. My fingers made awful squeaking sounds against the cold, painted steel. Hoisting myself up the first ledge proved difficult, my feet slipping from the small space that hadn’t been built with a man’s size and weight in mind. It didn’t help that I was drastically out of shape, not to mention clumsy. I was unable to lift my own weight more than a couple of times, and only in special circumstances. I was forced up along side of the house, my face pressed against the dusty window. The inside of the it was empty and dark. There were no lights, and a floor of unfinished cement matched the walls. A spiral carpet fitted to the center of the room added nothing to the décor but mild confusion. It was the worst kind of empty. Large shadows painted the walls, belonging to what I assumed were thin rods just out of my frame of view.

The reach for the roof seemed impossible. Standing on my toes, hoping not to fall off, stretching my body outwards as far as I could. I could feel my limbs burn as I pushed myself beyond my limits, trying to bridge the gap. I clamped my stubby hands around the edge of the tarmac and forced myself upwards again. I could smell myself persperating, sweat squirting from glands trying to lubricate my body for the tough climb.

I made it to the top practically breathless. I brought my left leg over the edge, declared victory, and collapsed in a pile of satisfaction for several moments. Regaining my composure, I started to try and level out my breath. Trying to work up the courage to make another move, forcing myself to push towards the other side of the roof. One inch at a time, I came closer to viewing the source of the noise. I saw something. My entire body revolted as I bore witness to an undulating and pulsating pile of diarrhea meat. I felt hot liquid explode through my system, vomit barrelling out of my throat and splattering against the ground, catching me in the face. What the fuck? I felt an unmistakable feeling in my system. Something that said I was wrong. Something that told me I was wrong, and to move on, and to never look back and to just accept that I was wrong. Coupled with crippling nausea, it was much easier to take seriously.

The creature was a blob of meat, no skin or bones, buried partway in the ground. It stood several feet tall like a skinless maggot volcano, rippled fat growing outwards towards its visible bottom. Nothing but a slimy gelatinous structure made from muddy, rotted meat. I felt both frightened and revolted at the sight of it. Outstretched veins, blue and green, were visible underneath the surface of its circular body. Twitching muscles were fully visible to the naked eye. Small hairs extended from every aspect of its being, bristling against one another. Its red body excreted streams of sweat through visible pores that hung down like open and wrinkled wounds. A gaping maw sat directly on top of an awful foundation, unleashing endless waves of vomit.

Whatever it was revolted and jiggled, twitching back and forth in what was obviously horrible pain. Every few seconds, from its center, a bile of green filth spewed upwards like a geyser of near endless vomit. I felt like tossing a penny at it. The discharge coated the creature and everything around it. Oral excretions formed a volatile pool in the grass that seeped into the dirt. Its teeth melted away by burning internal acids, the pain it was in could not be fully expressed through its mangled mouth. It tried. The gums were visible where several teeth had either fallen out or been completely dissolved away, and twisted, detached nerves hung like coiled pubic hair inside of the gaping cavity. It couldn’t stop regurgitating for more than a few seconds too short of being able to catch its breath. Did it breathe? Its mouth whistled and wheezed as it tried to inhale something outside of its own projections. The creature reeked of filthy, grimy awfulness. It was coated in sticky green projectile spew. It was sick.

Glompsch splitter splatter.

I climbed down from the roof, falling on my ass as my foot finally gave way from the ledge below me. Filtering through my pockets, I reached for my knife. I figured this was the emergency I’d always been waiting for. I was barely wide enough to shimmy through the space in between the homes. The expanse could only be described as a crevice. I crawled through carefully. I felt claustrophobic, and the walls came in on me. Making my way towards the meat seemed like a weird thing to do. The feeling inside of me turned into a voice that became louder with every step I took forwards. Sinking ground, soggy and filthy, collapsed underneath my shoes, bubbling up on either side of me. Pitter pattering mud drops looked like brown-red stars, clinging to my legs. Like they wanted to get away from this yard. Like they wanted me to turn around and walk out with them. It felt like moving across a gigantic, wet suck, carefully pulling me in.

Glompsch splitter splatter.

The meat stood chest high to me, vainly trying to wriggle out from its lodging in the dirt. A meaty maggot, it disgorged blobs of bile onto me. I felt small chunks bounce off and drip down the sides of my face. The acids stung my eyes and skin. I was itchy over my entire body almost instantly. I began shaking violently, unable to comprehend the situation. Approaching it, the ground began to give way under my feet. I sank even deeper into the mud. I thought to myself that every helpless creature, no matter how disgusting or awful it seems on the surface, deserves mercy. It’s not how you look but how you are. At the moment, I wasn’t exactly faced with high mental prowess or blinding kindness, but that’s not all something’s made of. I lunged towards it, letting my knife glide through its tough flesh. Every stabbing and sawing motion sent a stream of thick red blood through the air that glued my clothing against me. Bubbling hot puss splattered from wounds, sloshing down the side of the beast like a waterfall of sickness. Whatever it was screeched and screamed as chunks of undigested mucous splurged from its rotted lips. I had only maimed it. It would not die. The horrible choking noises continued, as did sudden and wet introductions to my face. Its bloated bulk tried to draw in oxygen as violent expulsions were thrust through the air.

It sat firmly in its resting place. Moving it as it was would be impossible. I carved my hands into the ground around its fat middle section, wrinkled rolls that extended over the earth under the creature slumping further outwards. One scoop after another, I dug my way around its melting circumference. Bloody dirt underneath my fingernails felt sticky. I tried desperately to avoid touching rotted meat swells and bloodied, spewing organs, but the jittering holes of meat came to slap against my face several times, sticking and sliding simultaneously. Its gelatinous, wet features met with me as it wriggled and writhed, arterial spray still pouring down its steaming hot exterior. Waves of puss spilling outwards, my hair became matted as the rotting smell filled my nose and mouth. I dug around the soft grime that surrounded the alien meat, pulling it loose and throwing it in a blotchy pile of dead grass and liquefied soil. My body felt feverish and tired. I was moaning and panting. My lungs felt full. I was pushing myself too hard, scooping up mud and clay from the squalor. My skin began to feel like it was covered in rash, my body hot and heaving. I puked onto myself as the entire core of my being revolted at the situation. Dislodging the meat machine, it resisted and quivered as I withdrew section after section from its nestled, painful position. I used its torn and pulpy muscles, undulating in my hands, as grips. I could feel them tearing out from underneath its meaty sheath as I lifted what felt like hundreds of pounds of monstrous flesh. It let out a painful squeal, cut off by a revolting spew of viscous yellow and red retch.

Glompsch splitter splatter.

Underneath, a long vein connected just below its filthy, fecal matter ridden anus extended deep into the ground. A load of brown-green excrement began simultaneously dripping and shooting from its distended orifice, an anal aperture of disease and affliction. Multiple tumour like growths had sunk to its bottom half. Sharp cancers cutting through its inner walls. The vein was thick and rubbery, like an intestinal pipe. It writhed around, slithering in my hands, seemingly attempting to free itself. Chunks of clotted material lingered around the entry point to the creature’s body, protruding from its bottom. The vine extended far underground, and I was met with impossible resistance that made any efforts to pull it up useless. It felt alive, whipping through the air, and I could tell there was something running through it. I patted myself down searching for my knife and sliced open a hole in the slithering tube. Mutilated body parts began to spill out, covering the ground in rotted chewed up carcasses that made my nose burn even worse and my eyes water to the point where I couldn’t see a thing. Chunks no larger than fingers filtered through and spilled into my lap, covering me in a disgusting array of dismembered human pieces. The meat was feeding on meat. Rotting, chemical loaded bodies that had laid countless years undisturbed under the ground.

I felt like I should leave. Like I was in trouble. The feeling persisted, growing stronger all the time. The entire creature was a fountain of meat. It had no life, no hopes, no dreams, no ambitions. It didn’t know it needed to go. It needed not to be there. It could still feel pain. I had cut its cord. I heard it gasp for air. I felt its body slow down. I watched it die. It shouldn’t have been there. It shouldn’t have existed. A pustule of disgusting, rubbery flesh that never loved anything. The Meat Fountain would never change. The death of one thing caused the death of another.