Gremlin Risitas Entry #033 — The Erased Cuts
[Gremlin leans against a busted lamppost, phone glow on his face. He scrolls slow, lips curled in that half-smile that means trouble.]
Felicia’s Original Post: 🔗 Tell Me How We Get Through This — Felicia C. Sullivan (Sep 4)
“Every day, we wake to a new horror. Or a heartbreak. Or a disappointment. … I wish I were a magician and could save it all. I’d find every kitten and puppy a home. Everyone would have shelter and warm food. And the knowledge that they are loved. … Instead, I do small things. I surprise my neighbor with bagels … I tell everyone I know just how beautiful and brilliant and amazing they are … I vote. I give what little I have to those who need it.
I tell myself again and again, this life, this world is worth fighting for.”
[Gremlin chuckles, shakes his head, claws flicking in the light.]
Catford Cut: “Felicia… you wrote a whole Greek tragedy and forgot the audience wasn’t buying tickets.
You call it a waking nightmare, but you narrate it like a Netflix pilot — one eye on horror, the other on your own spotlight. Tragedy as lifestyle brand.
The bagels? Cute. But pawing at meaning in a house already burning isn’t correction. It’s comfort. Don’t mistake the two.”
The Thinking Other Woman’s Comment:
“Yep. I thought if I just survived childhood with my mother things would finally get brighter, too.
Heh. Heh. heh.”
Catford Cut: “Oh, you think you’re clever with your little ‘Heh. Heh. heh.’? Cute. Three syllables of smug, like you invented pain.
Pain isn’t your membership club. You don’t get to laugh at someone else crawling through fire just because you walked barefoot once. That’s not wisdom — that’s rot dressed up as cynicism.
So enjoy your three chuckles. Because when claws like mine land, there’s no laugh left. Just silence and correction.”
[Gremlin leans back, lighter snapping open and shut. The wheeze-laugh seeps into the night like smoke.]
Takeaway (After the Deletes): “They couldn’t leave it standing. Couldn’t risk others seeing how flimsy the stage really was. So they scrubbed it — bleach on the sidewalk, bodies in the ditch.
But here’s the truth: The cuts were clean. No blood, no vendetta. Just correction.
Felicia — the overwriter, drowning rot under paragraphs. The Other Woman — the undercutter, hiding behind chuckles. Both erased. Both twitching.
Now they can feel snug again, safe again, wrapped in pity and platitudes. But the memory? The echo? That doesn’t get deleted. It lingers. It gnaws.
And every time they see ‘Some random cat person. Stay in your lane,’ they’ll remember the cuts they tried to bury.”
[The gremlin dusts off his hands, leaving only the faint scrape of claws against concrete. The lamppost hums on, as if nothing ever happened.]
#gremlinrisitas #033 #theerasedcuts #confirmedkill #graffitiofthereckoning