This week’s harvest was a fairly peculiar one, even for Depression.

He’d caught the typical grievers in their fourth stage, he’d swallowed trauma survivors whole, and he’d captured an innocent and lonely man sitting in the middle of a custody battle.

But what was so different this week was the children.

This was not necessarily an unusual path for the ailment himself to take, but the sheer amount of young souls he held in his pantry proved quite heavy on the dark wooden shelves.

He wasn’t quite tired of sucking the absolute life out of people until they were rotting flesh and bare bone. Blood ran dry quickly whenever Depression was involved. He was a beast, and he was always hungry.

This week he chose to focus on youth simply because he just felt like being a dick. That’s the honest truth, and if you’d asked him yourself that’s exactly what he would’ve told you.


Depression was shameless. Tall and shadowy, he was a stark contrast to the small, bright minds he so loved the taste of. He was as hollow as he was terrifying, and every lie that escaped his cracked lips was meant to be heard by somebody, no matter how quietly spoken. All of his promises were empty, but at the same time they were fulfilled within seconds.

So when the young souls started tumbling out of his pantry and surrounding him in a dreadful red sea, he took a mental note:

Nᴏᴛᴇ Tᴏ Sᴇʟғ: Bᴜʏ ᴀ Bɪɢɢᴇʀ Pᴀɴᴛʀʏ