TWINK DEATH

The castle was enormous, and everything the twink desired was found within those high walls and long curtains that billowed to the floor. Every twink who is born, so the story goes, receives his own castle with high ceilings and long curtains, to lead the most comfortable and privileged life one could ever dream of.

Until, one fateful day, he answers a higher calling. When the twink is plucked in his prime like a ripe fruit—sweet and plump, full of nectar—and finds his true destiny: True love? Better yet: His destiny.

But what if that moment never comes? A twink’s lifespan is short. Soon the traces of time draw near like shadows, leaving signs of approaching decay on the slender, hairless body. Wrinkles and stretch marks mar the once-smooth skin, and fine hairs begin to proliferate, growing into a thicket, and already the twink resembles a wild animal. An otter, perhaps? A bear, even? The end is near; it is inevitable: the death of the twink.