A centipede. A beautiful centipede.

He crafts it with such precision, such delicate detail. He relishes every moment, taking his time to ensure that his creation is perfect. His life was spent separating, and now he connects. He creates.

His creation is striking, breathtaking beyond all measure. The three have become one, all connected by the innards, front to back. He says they're in pain. They moan and writhe, and I watch. I watch, and I get excited.

I want one of my own.

I am not a doctor. I have never had the courage to harm others, only myself. But after seeing what the surgeon can do, the urge is too strong. I want to hear them moan, I want to see them crawl on their knees, I want to see them feed each other. I'll feed the front, and she will feed the rest. I will watch, and I will get hard, and oh, man alive, the pleasure I'll feel.

I must set to work. I'll gather tools from around the house. I'll watch the surgeon again, over and over, to make sure I can perform the procedure just right. I'll find a closed off area, to keep the pieces until they're joined. Until then, I have the scrapbook. And my dreams.

My centipede. My beautiful centipede.