Illustration of a Sea Monk

Your print ended up in the discount bin, price slashed to a buck because you’re one ugly fuck—prune head tonsured, nose askew, your cassock ridged with fist-sized shields. I bought you because you and I both know we’re horrible. But you can see the tentacular limbs extending from beneath your awful sleeves. You feel your needle teeth grinding, sense the broom of what might be mucous or fibrous fins fanning from where your legs should be, and know that the one who inked you could have only been cruel or foolish. No well-meaning mistake to make a sentient fish religious like this without even sucker cups to tell his beads and no knees to speak of. A freak incapable even of penance, though at least you look the part. If I’d seen him put the scales on you, I think I would have asked if he could do me next.