Found in a ridiculously random stack of disheveled papers that had no business being there. Of course, a merchant, whose name shall remain Namely Nameless, picked up the recycled trees in an attempt to make a buck from one creature’s misery. Sadly, the manuscript was unwanted. Some of the papers were ripped, and others had coffee stains. Thus, the inhabitants needed the journal to make sense if they were to ever sell it, so the merchants of rather unnamed qualities banded together to fill in the blanks, like the Mad Libs of old.

“You truly think anyone is admitting where the papers originated from?”

“You must be dastardly mad.”

—An unknown vendor wearing five Herbert Hoover masks and using Auto-Tune.

The Tome of Sæskwætʃ

            The day starts when the Standard Squid Squelches Sevenfold. Oftentimes, I don’t have the urge to roll myself out of my Harry Hammock; however, my job is one of importance. I keep the Killer Katz in line—safe. The only thing I own is my heartbeat and the Old One Outomobile. My fur is damp and matted. While I wish I had more shills for conditioner, I shall remain a hero in Dismal Destitute.

I stretch my great big, Harry arms. I am called a Cryptid, but I’m not sure why— I assure you there is nothing Cryptid about me. I comb my Matted Main until I am presentable, then brush my huge buck teeth with Slug Slime. After that, I’m out the door with my Caffeinated Crab in hand.

I hulkingly leap onto my vessel and prepare it with all my routine checks. I check it again because I refuse to sink in the River’s Rage. While it doesn’t affect my memories like the others, it is the only thing I own, besides my heartbeat. Which breaks a little with each passing day. I fill up my vessel with Boomer’s Blood and write my first entry for the day. Consequently, it is the one you’re reading now; however, if you’ve got your hands on this, something terrible has likely happened to me, because no one, and I mean no one, shall ever read these words.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer but constantly fear rejection, so I keep my thoughts to the confines of my…

I carry on as if I’ve never had a Platypus Popper. I carry on as the wayward sons and daughters have since the existence of Tumble Tim, following the beat of my heart the best I can. My ship is filled; therefore, I must be on my way.

I make haste to the Descarte Dessert, but as I drive down the river, I see two Injured Iguanas. I’m a hero embarking on my journey; therefore, I scoop them up. One is sleeping while the other wraps its lone tentacle around me, ever so tightly. I set the sleeping one down, gently, and tug on the other as it finally settles into a more appropriate manner. I wave over to the owner and say, “Ahoy, kid, I’ve got Cerberus and Leech. It seems you’ve misplaced them,” he said, not sounding surprised. “You better not let your grandma catch you slippin’ out, again.” Of course, the kid looked at me as if I were a Ketchup Katcher as kids often do, and that was that.

I went around the block to inspect the Old Ones, but they were nowhere to be found. I truly do not know if they exist, yet my Jovial Jitters are on the line. No, I don’t find them; however, I do drop off my two passengers to their rightful, more responsible owner, and finally make my way to Descarte Dessert. While most think that helping others in need is a waste of time, as I say, I am a Humble Human. And we must endure since there aren’t many of us left.

I must admit that I’ve never visited the Descarte Dessert before. A well-regarded sale-folk at the Bazaar by the name of [Redacted] informed me that it was the only place I could find them. I’ve always wondered why there was ONE when many supposedly existed. Also, why were they OLD? As a scientist, I needed answers.

*

I cross the Clouded Chicken and turn into the proper stream. My brain thinks. My heart races. I am currently writing this entry as my boat floats into the desert of the real. All the answers to my problems were revealed. My hands are not on the wheel; only on my trusty Quivering Quill—My hands shake indefinitely—I must record every detail and description of this momentous event. I finally cross the Thronged Threshold…

“I am, therefore…”