More shit from the Mistress of the stuff. I keep myself up nights, so it's worth my lack of any social goals.
I don't know what the hell I'm about to write, so keep in mind I'm just typing the first thing that occurs to me with absolutely no clue what I have in mind. I don't even have a vague outline. Ok. I thought of something. Here we go.
Larva: Miyu...
Miyu: Larva?
Larva: I have a tumor
Miyu: Is it benign?
Larva: No
The sound of soft weeping fills the room.
Heh heh, no, I kid. Here's something real for you. Or rather for one person in particular. Since all the people who read my shit all seem to belong to the same cult, I feel no shame in dredging up inside jokes and references those who haven't been following my crapwriting won't get. Or something like that. Oerg. Oeuf! The incredible edible oeuf.
Miyu sat on the top of the six-story apartment building that was currently functioning as her home. The wind was chilly this high up, and a constant breeze kept sweeping the ribbon twined through her hair in front of her eyes. She had been wearing it so long she had forgotten where she first got it, or who had given it to her. She supposed she could easily go purchase another, but it always seemed to serve as an unconscious connection to her previous, simpler, happy life, taking on the role of somewhat of a security blanket for her. Someone in one of the apartments below her was listening to a radio, and the barely heard bass rhythm was all that filtered up to Miyu. Shivering, she wrapped her school jacket a little closer around herself and stood, turning from the serene night sky to descend the stairs. Her and Larva's apartment was on the fifth floor, and as she stepped out of the stairwell into the hallway she could hear the music a little clearer now, the beat taking on a thin thread of metallic music and whining lyrics just on the edge of sound, like an unseen mosquito. She arrived at the door, and stopped with her hand on the knob. She never had to lock the door, as no one would ever come to see her, and anyone trying to break in would be in for a mild surprise. The music seemed to be coming from their apartment, which was strange. Larva was the only one inside, and she couldn't picture him listening to something so garish and offensive. She opened the door. The music was coming from inside. She followed it down the hall to the one bedroom, whose door was closed. The music was definitely originating from behind that door. She could hear it clearly now. While never an avid fan of whatever new fad the humans would invariably latch on to, she had, during her long years, picked up enough to recognize what was coming through the thin wood, and the shock froze her hand on the point of throwing open the door. She could hear something moving inside now, a rustling and thumping as though.....*oh dear god no......make it anything but that....*. Bracing herself, she turned the knob and opened the door.
Larva turned, horrified, from where he had been staring at the television screen, which contained none other than Richard Simmons prancing gleefully across the screen, accompanied by the blaring eighties music Miyu had been hearing. Miyu gaped at what Larva was wearing. She didn't even think he owned spandex, much less in those neon colors. He attempted to cover himself with his hands, shrugging guiltily, both his wrists and his temples swathed in bright green sweatbands. "What? Can't wear a cloak forever, and I have to keep my figure if I'm going to fit into my spring wardrobe."
Miyu's eyes crossed, and as she began to lose consciousness, her last thought was 'I blame Princess Licorice....'
I don't know what the hell I'm about to write, so keep in mind I'm just typing the first thing that occurs to me with absolutely no clue what I have in mind. I don't even have a vague outline. Ok. I thought of something. Here we go.
Larva: Miyu...
Miyu: Larva?
Larva: I have a tumor
Miyu: Is it benign?
Larva: No
The sound of soft weeping fills the room.
Heh heh, no, I kid. Here's something real for you. Or rather for one person in particular. Since all the people who read my shit all seem to belong to the same cult, I feel no shame in dredging up inside jokes and references those who haven't been following my crapwriting won't get. Or something like that. Oerg. Oeuf! The incredible edible oeuf.
Miyu sat on the top of the six-story apartment building that was currently functioning as her home. The wind was chilly this high up, and a constant breeze kept sweeping the ribbon twined through her hair in front of her eyes. She had been wearing it so long she had forgotten where she first got it, or who had given it to her. She supposed she could easily go purchase another, but it always seemed to serve as an unconscious connection to her previous, simpler, happy life, taking on the role of somewhat of a security blanket for her. Someone in one of the apartments below her was listening to a radio, and the barely heard bass rhythm was all that filtered up to Miyu. Shivering, she wrapped her school jacket a little closer around herself and stood, turning from the serene night sky to descend the stairs. Her and Larva's apartment was on the fifth floor, and as she stepped out of the stairwell into the hallway she could hear the music a little clearer now, the beat taking on a thin thread of metallic music and whining lyrics just on the edge of sound, like an unseen mosquito. She arrived at the door, and stopped with her hand on the knob. She never had to lock the door, as no one would ever come to see her, and anyone trying to break in would be in for a mild surprise. The music seemed to be coming from their apartment, which was strange. Larva was the only one inside, and she couldn't picture him listening to something so garish and offensive. She opened the door. The music was coming from inside. She followed it down the hall to the one bedroom, whose door was closed. The music was definitely originating from behind that door. She could hear it clearly now. While never an avid fan of whatever new fad the humans would invariably latch on to, she had, during her long years, picked up enough to recognize what was coming through the thin wood, and the shock froze her hand on the point of throwing open the door. She could hear something moving inside now, a rustling and thumping as though.....*oh dear god no......make it anything but that....*. Bracing herself, she turned the knob and opened the door.
Larva turned, horrified, from where he had been staring at the television screen, which contained none other than Richard Simmons prancing gleefully across the screen, accompanied by the blaring eighties music Miyu had been hearing. Miyu gaped at what Larva was wearing. She didn't even think he owned spandex, much less in those neon colors. He attempted to cover himself with his hands, shrugging guiltily, both his wrists and his temples swathed in bright green sweatbands. "What? Can't wear a cloak forever, and I have to keep my figure if I'm going to fit into my spring wardrobe."
Miyu's eyes crossed, and as she began to lose consciousness, her last thought was 'I blame Princess Licorice....'