Merry Fucking ChristmasSanta, that magical person who breaks into peoples houses as they get excited about it. But, contrary to popular opinion, not everybody gets freakishly happy about the visit of this mysterious person and this particular cozy little house had a dog, a dog that was not fond of the creepily jolly old man. When up on the rooftop the sound of reindeer hooves were heard, the dog decided to give Santa one fair warning. "woof woof, woof woof woof!!" Roughly translated meant "Fuck off you lazy jack ass, those are my cookies! MINE!! Go steal from some other house!" But alas, poor Santa didn't speak dog, so he had no idea what the dog was saying and thus continued his perilous journey down the chimney. After getting stuck a couple times he finally made it to the fireplace, and into the house. While busy greedily shoving the cookies that the dog so dearly loved in his face, he dropped his guard long enough for the dog to sneak up behind him and rip the overly cheery bastard to bloody pieces. Th
Ashes to ashesHe watches from a safe distance as the fire creeps farther away, destroying everything in its wake. Silently, he curses everybody who tries to stop it, convinced none of them deserved to live. When the flames he created and so dearly loved were no longer visible, he thought it best to walk back home; if he couldn't have a front row seat, he'd catch it on the news, not as good, but definitely better than nothing. While absorbed in his musings on the evils of humanity, he became completely unaware of his surroundings until he was rudely interrupted by a yellow ball of fuzz with a furiously wagging tail. Trying his best to ignore the infuriatingly cheerfulness of the helpless animal, he continued on his way. Once he reached his home, his sanctuary away from people where nobody would bother him, he became enraged to find that the puppy had followed him all the way there, begging for attention like a crack addict will beg for money. Getting sick of its presence, the man takes the
Seeing RedRed floods my vision as the blood flows freely from the multitude of freshly open wounds. The shrieks of agony clear my groggy mind, and deafen me as salt is ground into the abrasions that covered their entire body. Pain. Pure, seemingly perpetual pain. This place-with blood stained walls, the floor covered with dead and dying bodies, and with the smell so thick and overpowering you can taste it-was built for no other reason than to cause screaming anguish. Originally, it was supposed to be an interrogation room, that would use any means necessary to extract information from the inhabitants of the room, whether they were in there for murder, rape, or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time and the "interrogators" needed someone to "question." But it was supposed to have faded like a shadow in the sunlight, to be nothing more than a story used to scare misbehaving little kids, but it didnt, it still exists. The torture of the person whose screams awoke me from my drugged slumbe
AloneLost in a void of ever encompassing darkness never to be rescued, abandoned and left to die. Surrounded by hoards of people yet still completely alone. Everybody is too caught up in their superficial lives to pay attention, nobody understands or even tries to help. I am left to fend for myself in the dark and feeling worthless like a forgotten rag doll. My life is pointless, no sense to prolonging my inevitable death. As a desperate attempt to end the pain, I grab the gun, and bidding everybody farewell I steal my last gasping breath and pull the trigger.
wingsMy wings have been broken. Torn apart slowly, painfully by the monsters of society. All hope of flying is lost, dying on the ground with the remaining shreds of my once beautiful wings, as I am overcome by the immense sadness that drowns my every thought, my every feeling. I'm told I am nothing, not worthy of flying , and that I will never amount to anything, so they take it upon themselves to destroy my only means of escape. My wounds have scarred but they will never fully heal, leaving me with wounds like endless chasms inside of me. Everything has been taken, nothing has been left. Every day is like trying to live in a frozen wasteland of pain and suffering, as I am cast aside like a ragged doll by a tantrum prone toddler. My existence is nothing, and my soul will not know peace until I regain my wings in death.
Watchful eyesWalking into my room I see the bodies. Hundreds of body parts strewn across the floor. Faces, those that are intact enough to discern any sort of emotion, are frozen to forever brandish the agony and fear carved into their features. The blood has seeped into the carpet, making wet, bubbling sounds and splattering onto my formerly white shoes as I walk. The variety of the bodies' size, shape, gender, and ethnicity made it seem as if there were no pattern as to how they were chosen or how they were killed, and I notice only one solitary thing that ties them all together; their eyes, all of them are missing. Wondering what exactly happened here I weave my way through the mass of dead things, slowly making it to the other side of the room, where I perch on my bed-the only space not coated in blood-and stare blankly at the scene before me. A gnawing at the back of my mind tells me I should remember something about this, or be reacting in some way, but the drugs I shot into my veins only a
stuff-ish-type-thingsMooses are spiffy!! Look!! *gasp!* there's one now!!Teacup, the mini cheese monster, wants to kiss your purple feet so he can eat the golden eggs that that one goose laid in that one story at that one place that one time. Muahahahahahaha! You are a skilled ninja but my super-duper bubble-o-matic! shall beat you to a sausage!! My tissue box wants ice cream but I told it we cant have any because I lost my crocodile. Poor poor little bush. It wants to be a break dancer when it grows up but sadly….it lost its legs in a tragic butterfly stampede. *le sigh* my fingers like to eat the pencil led that comes out of my eyes but I don't like flamingo meat so I told the ribbon to go drink its own coffee. I had to throw away my toe jam collection because my water bottle bit me so now my room smells like old people. Your speckled duck danced on the door that sleeps on my ceiling. It was eaten to death by the door knob three months before it died.My teapot has fleas because the cactus got herpes f
everlasting sleepDeath is nothing if not an eternal sleep; an eternal nightmare from which you cannot awaken. Forever to be trapped in an oblivion not comprehensible by the feeble human mind, forcing madness and never granting peace.