About an hour ago, I found myself in a strange and alien parallel world. While having the same outward appearance as the world I normally inhabit, the weather was noticeably cooler than normal, while the sun was out and the people were about, as if this was a balmy spring day. I had to don a heavy jacket.
The people. Oh, the people. They looked like me, they acted like me, and they spoke, emoted and and carried on in typical human fashion like me. Only they weren’t like me.
No, they were different. The biggest indicator being that, unlike my skin, their skin was made of something like a sugar cone, with a layer of milk chocolate on the inside, like a Drumstick cone. And their insides were filled with vanilla ice cream.
These were people who were made of ice cream, with sugar cones for skin.
I don’t know how I got to this world. Transported by some outer force, slipped through a rip in the space/time continuum, some kind of vortex created by whatever coincidental combination of…something; I don’t know. All I do know is, when I was there, I was investigating the murder of one of these…beings’ citizenry.
His body was found, torso ripped open, the sugar cone-y pieces lying by his corpse, and all the ice cream forcibly removed. Since it was cooler there, the bits of his insides that I could see splattered around him weren’t melted and pooling, but the effect was still the same. Face frozen in horror, a giant gaping hole where his chest should have been, and a void where his ice cream innards should have been.
It was hard for me to take this all seriously, I know. But, whether bizarre ice cream beings or not, this still was a murder. I couldn’t let this monster get away.
Problem was, the beings there knew I wasn’t one of them. They sensed that I didn’t really belong in their world. As a result, no one would help me in the investigation. Not one of them would even acknowledge my presence there, when I was asking questions pertaining to the murder. Even when others started turning up murdered in the same heinous way, they turned their back on me.
Why would they do that? Something was killing all of them, and getting away with it, and THEY WON’T LISTEN TO ME. Why? It’s right in front of their faces. Under their noses. They constantly step in the ice creamy guts of their fallen brethren in the streets, willfully ignorant.
THEY’RE ALL GOING TO DIE, AND THEY WON’T LET ME HELP THEM FIND AND CATCH THE THING KILLING THEM.