I woke up someday but didn't. I wondered if you were real. I woke up on the ceiling of your home. I walked downstairs and soon realised that you were here. You weren't dead. Which was weird, cause there were so many pictures of you. I saw the dining room (upside down). I cried. In 40 days, a sandstorm was going to make the world uninhabitable. The holy spirit had left on a luxury liner aimed at the moon. Catapults lined the desert. The house was empty. A gun was real but a man was not. A Greek statue loomed overhead. I had been exiled. A million dollars was not an easy amount of money to make a second time. I succeeded, but my Dad wasn't around. He was in a tree at the time. A tree that held up the world. I resolved at that point to take more care of my money. One day, while playing my sausage piano for inspiration, I accidentally got high off of the sausage fumes. That was how I came here. A child's stare had gotten me to fall back to earth. I ended up breaking my spine. You stared at me as I screamed in agony. The holy spirit came back and punched my spine back into shape.

"Where you the one that called it?" I asked.

There was no response from you.

"Please get out." you said.

I promptly obliged.

The magical council had decided to make me a civil servant in the interests of being humane. The cops had domes and giant, cubic fingers. As I picked up the trash, I saw you once again. You were alone. Outside the school, a man in a makeshift priest costume started making guttural noises. I went over to you. You recoiled in fear and disgust.

"I'm sorry. For, y'know, scaring you and stuff. I-I had no malicious intent. None at all." I said to you.

You stared blankly at me.

"I was exiled here by the fumes emitted from sausages dangling from a pulley system!" I explained.

You recoiled even more and you began to shake a little.

"Please don't hurt me." you said.

"You're going about it the right way!" said your corrupted anus.

After the initial shock wore off for the two of us, you began to scream for help.

"Wait! No! No! I'll back off! I'll leave!" I said, before running away.

I had evaded the schoolchildren that had branded me an ephebophile and collected the correct amount of rubbish I was assigned to collect for today. I retired to my room. It was within the now decomposing Luna Nova Academy. The fallen masonry exposed a pink, writhing flesh. All the children had been withdrawn and the church bells were all broken. Despite this, it wasn't unsafe. At least not excessively so. It was an ideal place to keep a trespasser. To send me back to my world may mean that I might accidentally get high on sausage fumes again. I pointed out that they could just get rid of me and returning here would be used as a deterrent but they wouldn't listen. I fantasised about coming home, dismantling the piano pulley and creaming myself in the process.

I wrote this letter to you in order to say sorry once again. It's fine if you don't believe me. I'm sorry you have a mean anus that constantly talks you down. You made me fall to the floor. I thank you. I'm just sad that you are the way you are. I'm really sorry. I am. You called the holy spirit.

Gord.

Upon reading the letter, Sucy crumpled it up into a ball and threw it into the trashcan.