What could be more fun?
What could be more fun than being stabbed in the chest?
Not being stabbed in the chest.
But how could you be defined as living without dying?
The fact that I am clearly alive.
Are you sure you’re alive?
Yes.
Not anymore!
The fire sprinkled death over the marsh. Maniacal laughter could be heard in the distance. The water evaporated in the wake of the fire. Smoke filled the air. My carcass was charred. It was more like an unintelligible pile of charcoal. I think some starving artist stole most of my remains. That was a bad day.
“Mmm, splattered guts! Food always tastes better when you’ve run it over yourself.” He licked the last of the skunk off the pavement. Though half of it was on his face and shirt. He smacked his lips and walked over to the nearby car. He opened the rear door of the police car. The naked cop was shaking on the far side. He grabbed the cop, pulled him out, then threw him off the bridge. The body sailed through the air. The cop landed softly on a field of down comforters. Or so he hoped. Instead he tore through the air at a supernatural speed. The air also tore some slits in him. The ground impaled him through his belly button. He was quite embarrassed. With his act as a living being, he took a nice satisfying dump. It was quite a relief.
The flow of the red river tickled the psychotic. He was giggling uncontrollably. Tears welled up in his eyes. He was so happy. This was going to be the happiest day of his life.
There you are psycho!
Giggling on ground.
Hey jerk, I’m talking to you.
Bust of laughter.
This is it buddy. You final punishment. You dare confront a... Where do you think you’re going?
He looked absolutely giddy. He had gotten up, and was walking away from me. He stopped in the middle of the bridge. He turned and grinning shouted “cozy” in a very high pitched squeak. I reeled from the noise. When I looked up, he was gone.
After vomiting in the bushes. I left that scene. The expression on his face had violated my mind. I felt soiled. Not existing seemed like a positive alternative for the first time. I couldn’t even take revenge.
Beneath the bridge the psycho stared up. With his unnatural grin, it was clear he had enjoyed himself. One would think that being impaled by a large rock wouldn’t be fun. Never before had someone killed themselves for a lark.
Not being stabbed in the chest.
But how could you be defined as living without dying?
The fact that I am clearly alive.
Are you sure you’re alive?
Yes.
Not anymore!
The fire sprinkled death over the marsh. Maniacal laughter could be heard in the distance. The water evaporated in the wake of the fire. Smoke filled the air. My carcass was charred. It was more like an unintelligible pile of charcoal. I think some starving artist stole most of my remains. That was a bad day.
“Mmm, splattered guts! Food always tastes better when you’ve run it over yourself.” He licked the last of the skunk off the pavement. Though half of it was on his face and shirt. He smacked his lips and walked over to the nearby car. He opened the rear door of the police car. The naked cop was shaking on the far side. He grabbed the cop, pulled him out, then threw him off the bridge. The body sailed through the air. The cop landed softly on a field of down comforters. Or so he hoped. Instead he tore through the air at a supernatural speed. The air also tore some slits in him. The ground impaled him through his belly button. He was quite embarrassed. With his act as a living being, he took a nice satisfying dump. It was quite a relief.
The flow of the red river tickled the psychotic. He was giggling uncontrollably. Tears welled up in his eyes. He was so happy. This was going to be the happiest day of his life.
There you are psycho!
Giggling on ground.
Hey jerk, I’m talking to you.
Bust of laughter.
This is it buddy. You final punishment. You dare confront a... Where do you think you’re going?
He looked absolutely giddy. He had gotten up, and was walking away from me. He stopped in the middle of the bridge. He turned and grinning shouted “cozy” in a very high pitched squeak. I reeled from the noise. When I looked up, he was gone.
After vomiting in the bushes. I left that scene. The expression on his face had violated my mind. I felt soiled. Not existing seemed like a positive alternative for the first time. I couldn’t even take revenge.
Beneath the bridge the psycho stared up. With his unnatural grin, it was clear he had enjoyed himself. One would think that being impaled by a large rock wouldn’t be fun. Never before had someone killed themselves for a lark.
posted by Hank at 10:25 AM
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