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robin hood stole a purse for me. He was pleasant. The arrows didn't pierce. His bow broke. Outlines in rhapsody shapes added some unidentified agent to the mess of hurles and wooden horses. My throat got sore.

        Adding dibutyl phthalate to the batch of cookies for the kiddies to eat. Setting a table of ammonia bottles opened for convenience. Maybe a little paint thinner for variety.

        Painted faces lined the halls, not wanting to be seen there. The rooms streak from varsity teams. People thrust their faces in, reluctant to enter full body. There were tables in the center of the room empty, waiting for group stripping and corrupting. The table stunk. Sweet smells of vomit induced out of duty. Out of conscience, if it still existed. Play. Play. What it can bring. To babies or children ready to take the chance of fun. Stepping on feet to make them hurt. To make them suffer. No peace. No joy. To them. So I hurt their feet. Hurl them through cardboard dummies. Screw their petty lives up. To look back on. A thread in their toys, child. Does it damn them or just disable them? Frosting on their milk isn't cream. Care that there are no bones in it.

        Freeze yourself. Maimed, gargled to pain. Give your miserable fortune a thought not to be remembered as what you left it as. It is not good. Hope you are left better than that. Last impressions strain life.


I found myself lying on the bed. I don't know how I got there. Staring, blurring my hand into a fuzz mess of flesh of nothing. My arm bent under my body, hurting. A pain up my leg. I was scared to move. I lifted my head up just enough to see.


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