A drawing of a large-chested red man standing in the desert.

Blonk was a creature known by many. A large-chested boy with a heart of pure gold. Heavy was this heart, more of a burden than a pretty metaphor. What gleams from the inside, may as well not gleam at all, thought Blonk.

Blonk went walking in the angel white sands, his feet dragging on the grains like tank tracks. His body was thick, gorgeous. A luxurious home, if you believe that's what a body is. The devil was acting, Blonk knew, through many avenues. And his keenest and sweetest avenue was in propagating the idea that a body is a home. Wrong, thought Blonk. A body is me.

What should Blonk do?