Wind swept through the quiet streets of Maple Valley, producing an empty tone. Had he not slept with the windows closed to ward off the cold night air, John would have noticed - and promptly disregarded - the sound. He was far too used to the note Desolation plays. Its only comfort was that it suggested a typical day.

As it turns out, Desolation is a dirty liar.

The scent of blueberry muffins wafted up to John’s room. That, or the light of the late-morning sun aligned behind the large letters indefinitely suspended in the sky, is what woke him. Somehow, they always seemed to make the sun even brighter. Shouldn’t they cast a shadow? And why were there giant letters floating in the sky? Not to mention how. These were questions John had wrestled with in his youth, but the bizarre anomaly now seemed ordinary to him. John fancied himself a man of science, but the letters suggested some supernatural force at work. Science could not and, oddly enough, had not tried to explain the titular phenomenon. Was this a message from some higher power? Aliens? In any case, John had never expected to know the unearthly being responsible for their existence.

He was getting sick of blueberry muffins. Somehow his dad always found the time in the morning to make a fresh dozen before going to work. Perhaps John would just have a sandwich today; it was getting close enough to lunchtime.

“Bread! Where’s the goddamn bread? Are you telling me this nooksniffing asshole with his baker dad doesn’t have a fucking loaf of bread!?”

Ugh, again? How many vagrants did John have to kick out of their kitchen before his dad would actually start locking the front door?

This one was shorter than average, but just as disheveled. Both these facts would be at least somewhat noteworthy if this particular intruder didn’t have gray skin and… candy corn glued to his head? No, too large to be candy corn. Obviously some strange headpiece. And to top it off, his shirt had a sideways 69 printed on the front. God, they just keep getting weirder.

John offered a humble greeting: “Uh, who are you?”

Gray-face turned to him, climbing down from the counter amidst a pile of discarded jars. “Just call me your fucking god. Have I told you that before? Wait, don’t answer that. I honestly don’t give a shit if I’ve talked to you at this point on the timeline yet or not.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh my bulgescraping fuck, I am not about to have this conversation with you again. Are you going to tell me where you keep your fucking bread or not?”

Maybe humoring him would get him to leave sooner. “Third cabinet from the left.” As if there were any other options. He had already trashed the first two.

“Wow, thanks shitsponge, it’s not like I was about to look there before you stumbled your frothing ass down the stairs. Now, could you stop fondling your seed flaps and grab me some cheese?”

“I-” John paused. It wasn’t even worth arguing; this guy was obviously deranged. If he got what he was looking for, John could probably just send him on his way. And then lock the door. A revolutionary concept, really.

“What are you doing anyways?” Casual conversation over a block of cheese might just pacify him.

“I’m trying to make a goddamn sandwich. You have me to thank for your pathetic failure of a life, so I think I deserve that much.”

John had a feeling it was going to be a long day.