October 13, 2015.

SPOOKTOBER STORY #9:

"Yaaassss, QUEEEEEN," her followers cry, writhing at the feet of the Selfie Mother, swaddled in her decaying regal vestments, bound by effluvium and rot, her bifurcated jaw grinding the skull of a softboy whose disconnected nervous system is still being really gross and pervy.

"Me IRL," they shriek, their unified voices piercing the heavens. "TFW ur cute and u know it fire emoji,"

The Selfie Mother lifts her royal brow from what's left of the softboy, the grime of a thousand dead seas slipping from her sabre-like cheekbones and splattering onto the grim cathedra she has perched upon for an eon.

She spreads her wings, vast and terrible, the dying sun a pale fog, enunciating every vein and tendon in shadow, and when she takes to the air, it is to the steadily fading chant of "Eyebrow game on fleek... eyebrow game on fleek... eyebrow game on fleek..."