Yor Vote Matters

Yor'Sothor looked dapper. Or as dapper as a writhing collection of tentacles and eyes squeezed into a waistcoat could be. I hated myself a little in that moment for having the thought, for feeling something approaching pride. He honestly seemed nervous as we stood backstage. "What if they boo?" he asked me, his voice resonating within and throughout my mind.

"I don't think that's likely, sir," I said, adjusting his tie. I withdrew my hand, now thoroughly covered in slime and ichor. I had learned to carry many handkerchiefs for this express purpose.

"I'll be in the audience-"

"Of course you will. Where else could you go?" he said absentmindedly. He was right. None of us could be anywhere but here. He and his cohorts designed it as such. But I don't think he meant any malice in it.

"Even if I could be elsewhere, I'd be in the audience," I said and could tell by the waving of his tentacles that he was pleased by the platitude.

I left the backstage area and joined the squirming, squalling throngs of people. Every human mind within the United States was present. Yor'Sothor, or Yor, as he asked me to call him when I first joined the campaign, had taken lengths to make it comfortable. Millions of minds crowded into a single plane that was somehow just as empty. The scent memory of funnel cake and cotton candy flowed about. Parents and their children were playing games of popping balloons and throwing baseballs. There were those that had been rendered insane by being metaphysically transported across space and time, but it seemed most everyone was making the best of it. I wasn't sure how it was possible but every step was soda sticky.

Yor made the sound of clearing his non-existent throat, a trick I had taught him to get people's attention. It went over a lot better than the blood curdling screams he had used at first. Everyone turned their attention to the stage, where Yor had grown so large he towered above them all.

"Good evening, friends. I hope you are enjoying yourself," he said and meager applause bubbled up around me. A hesitant eye near Yor's base swiveled and rested on me. I gave him an encouraging thumbs up and a smile. "As you know, the Great Decision is almost upon us," he said. "When the time comes, I trust you to make the right decision. 'Yor Vote Matters' as our brilliant campaign manager says." He paused and surveyed the crowd. "When my siblings and I awoke from our many millennia slumber, we found the earth utterly transformed- you were utterly transformed. You had grown and changed in such miraculous ways. You had divided the earth amongst yourselves, had worked so hard to differentiate yourselves from one another. We instantly knew we couldn't simply just raze it all into oblivion and devour your intellects!" He had meant this as a moment of levity but it didn't go over well. I gave a boisterous laugh, which no one around me really appreciated.

"I knew immediately that I wanted to reign over The United States. Many of us did. Which is why you have the choice between myself and Crawling Kurla, the Great Grinding Maw of Sotjin. I won't bore you with all the political talk," he said, sticking to our initiative of making him an "Everyman", "just know that I support you and wish to see you thrive for many thousands of years to come. All I ask in return is for you to follow the blood rites prescribed to you in your dreams." The audience watched him with drifting eyelids and shrugged shoulders. A long silence pervaded the void. Yor's countless eyes darted about desperately. I gave him the signal to wrap it up. "Thank you!" he said and bowed his enormous frame.

When the audience continued to stand in relative silence, murmuring to each other about blood rites, the sound of applause and the urge to clap rippled out from Yor like a crashing wave. Many people obliged, but I saw a small clump of people running towards the stage.

"U-S-A!" they chanted in thick southern drawls as they began throwing explosives and shooting wildly into Yor's tentacles and eyes. Leave it to them to figure out just enough about lucid dreaming to bring guns to the gathering. There was no effect on Yor's body, but I knew his pride would be hurt.

"I can understand your frustration," Yor said and I was proud of his restraint. "But you will have to choose between myself and Crawling Kurla, the Great Grinding Maw of Sotjin. That's just how it is." Yor dissipated then and I sprinted to the stage. Everyone else was compelled to happily turn away, drawn in by whatever was closest to them. With their attention elsewhere, Yor was able to exact his punishment on the interlopers. He stood in his human-sized form and watched them intently with all of his eyes. They screamed silently and writhed, their minds twisted into impossible, agonizing shapes.

"Good job!" I said to Yor. "I'm so proud of you."

"Don't lie. It was horrible." He turned away from his work and the protestors quivered in pain. Backstage, I swallowed a knot of disgust in my throat and slid my arms around the waist of his jacket. I squeezed him close to me. His tentacles curled about my arms. "I should have just let the others eat all the humans. Maybe it's not too late. Everyone but you of course."

I shushed him. "Even if you lose the race, you make the rules, right? Won't Crawling Kurla need a Vice Supreme Ruler of the United States?" I had waited until now to bring up the possibility. I was so scared I forced myself not to shake. Before now, he would think I was doubting him. His idea for he and Kurla to take turns kidnapping every mind in the country had to be met with optimism and support. Now that it had gone as I expected, I would have to pull out whatever stops I could to keep myself and the human race alive.

"You're right," he squelched happily and practically purred. "We'll win either way."

"That's right," I cooed, almost crying. "We'll win either way."