At any given time, there’s only around thirty to forty thousand Puerto Ricans actively alive. In 1993, I was lucky enough to become one of the chosen few.

Growing up Puerto Rican is one of the most interesting things a person can do. From chanclas to rice, there’s just so many words that Puerto Ricans know. But what about those secret things that most people don’t know about Puerto Ricans? The hidden shit that dares to interrupt the quiet dark. Dwelling just beneath the surface. Stirring you awake with godless nightmares. Here are four things to know when thinking about Puerto Ricans.

1.) It’s an island!

Puerto Ricans come from the island of Puerto Rico in the Caribbean, just 1500 miles south of Atlanta, Georgia, home of Ludacris. The island consists of mostly rice terraces and boat docks, hence the name Puerto Rico, Spanish for “Port Rice.”

2.) Sazón!

Puerto Ricans invented sazón in a lab in 1982 or ’83. It is a key part of every Puerto Ricans life, but is mostly used just for food. Upon birth, boys are given a vial of sazón that once taken, kick starts puberty, turning them into men.

3.) Famous Puerto Ricans!

Many celebrities hail from The Island. Puerto Rico’s first celebrity was outfielder Puchy Delgado, who played 13 games for the Seattle Mariners in 1977! Puerto Rico’s last celebrity has not been born yet, we hope.

4.) Music!

The island of Puerto Rico loves to dance and listen to music very loudly! The most popular type is Salsa music, a genre defined by booming synth horns and melodic harp. A typical Salsa band can consist of up to 83 different members.

Now that you know everything about Puerto Ricans, get out there and talk to one today! You never know what kind of magical tale one might spin for you, and the memories you two will leave behind.

Of all the many things God created, there was no kinder gift than that of wonder and awe. The inexplicable confusion that spawns when the mind is unable to make sense of what it’s confronted with, giving freedom from feeling. A break, no matter the brevity, from the idea of good and evil. Through this he delivered mercy; and mercy much needed.

Where science fails, faith shoulders all loads. It is with that knowledge that I, a man of the church, persist. It need not take a genius to know what the coming storm meant. Reports of towns all over being void of life in it’s perilous wake, though not by nature’s doing. A monolith of hellish mystery and hope’s withering, with name neglected, closely resembling Lucifer’s most vile makings. A creature without definition, only fitting of the epitome of catastrophe. It appears to each their own, materializing in all the forms we didn’t yet know we feared.

That very mystery warmed me like a winter blanket. Death was the creator’s only promise, no matter the form it took. Upon arrival at the town’s church, that guilty comfort made it’s home in my heart. A much needed buffer on my conscience, as words of reassurance to the town patrons flowed from my mouth; a river of lies. The gathering of the unknowing innocent appeared nearly ritualistic. Sheep herded to escape the wolf, only to make home in it’s den.

The stained glass windows depicted strange scenes of tales told long ago. Moses in his basket of reeds, floating along a flurry of browns and blues. Eve feasting on her apple; a malevolent snake watching on from above. The remnants of natural light faded as storm and night clashed, the paltry replacement becoming flickering candles casting formless movies upon the walls. The bewitchment of those movies being broken only by the air-stifling screams of the first victim.

From whence corner it came would never be known, but its entrance was made and with it, calamity. An uproar of panic’s full volume exploded from wall to wall, a grand chorus rapidly losing sound as the warm blood of its composers coated the room. Survive or not, the intricacies of every scream would be sure to haunt me forevermore. I bolted, surprising myself, for the quickest exit from this Hell, like Orpheus and Eurydice before me.

…I catapulted myself through the already thin glass, shattering it with ease. The church bell continued its toll, harmonizing with my frantic footsteps, complimented by the sloshing muck of my blood-soaked shoes. Rain decorated the night, with a pale moon blaring an unholy luminescence, creating indescribable shadow shapes. In another time, one of less duress, I could imagine befriending said shapes. Anything to bring me comfort in the night.

It comes at once, I beheld, with no sense of haste — the hopeless gnawing of death approaching. Dreams of a future, breaking, plummeting like stalactites in a crumbling cave no longer remembered. The cracks in vision actualize, causing vision to blur; a luminous haze.

Suddenly I saw it, with only a slight churning to mark its rise from the flooded street. The abomination slid into view, hovering inches over the black waters. Massive and hideous, he ascended like a wondrous monster from the murky deep.

To truly see him for what he was would invoke insanity. His head, reared back and maw agape, exposing countless lines of fangs, sharper than human eyes could perceive. To properly describe the sounds he omitted would take lifetimes of study. The many directions in which his octopus-like limbs swayed brought instant dizziness. And with all of this I knew, only I see it this way.

I now believe that absolute terror accesses the darkest parts of our brain; the parts never thought used. For only a fraction of a moment its many eyes made contact with mine, causing seizures and tremors so severe that I lost count of how many bones and ligaments broke. But, unlike the victims of it’s recent slaughter, it spared me a physical death. With a laughing cackle so thunderous my ear drums shattered, it glided seamlessly up and away, painting the town with a spattering of blood…

This was Death incarnate, canonized within humanity’s lore, dreamt up even before the word dreams had made its way into the universal lexicon. I write this in hopes it is somehow found, as I hide away here now bleeding out, in the rubble of a burned down cottage. Not to frighten, nor heed warning, as there is no escaping the inevitability of it, but to be another that chronicles its existence firsthand. His repugnance looms and stirs in the darkness, sowing decay over the remnants of man. A time will come for all, but I mustn’t put thought, nor consideration to it. Only prayer, to a God that’s yet abandoned me.