It always thought the stars were clusters of magical dust. It always longed for them, imagining their sweet flavor on its mouth.
It always wished it could just become some sort of squid, too. Childish illusions, broken fantasies and a pint of perversion running through the half decomposed veins of the child. It touched its leash, smiling, always smiling, always away from this world.
Always a piece of useless trash, a doll for the sake of being a doll. Nothing more than a creature born from a pile of ashes come from three hundred aborted mobs. Those little corpses put in water, cleaned, eviscerated, dunked in milk and finally reunited in a fireplace, burning day and night, night and day.
The sacred fire around which prostitutes dance to celebrate their dying moments. And a mix of cats and dogs are thrown in, little paws stumbling around the dirty surroundings, widened eyes, exposed fangs and the ever so subtle smell of molten lollipops taking the air.
This fire died in one year. Not because there will no longer be prostitutes, dogs or cats by then but rather, there will be no one to watch them.
All pigs are blind. All pigs and bats and fish and creepers and zombies and Players. All blinder than anything else. They will love and die and do whatever the hell they want to do. Even die.
This is when she jumped. Jumped towards the stars. Jumped from the ground, little deformed feet propelling it upwards, nearer to all magic, to all dreams…away from the dirt, the ashes, the death…
It was eaten by an enormous chicken called Four Days.
And thus, my good friends, we walk. Stumbling across this glassy path, our feet full of scars and dipped in an everlasting layer of dark water from the garbage and vomit.
Whatever.
It was a completely normal day. One of those that make your head hurt and your stomach twist in place.
And the Player desperately tried to protect his name plate.
All around him a billion names arrived: "Obsidian ShadowFlame", "Mary Eleanor", "Darkness", "Karen", "Bandit", "Joe Hussel" and so on. They all laughed, or cried, they all moved and flailed, they loved, killed and were perfectly right in the end.
He trembled, hugging his name plate, the last one in the world. Because he was disappearing too. Because in the moment that name disappeared he would no longer be the same. His sobs would have put any "Sadness Lucifer" to shame. Haha!
His fingers, his face, his skin, his everything started to melt. He cried on top of his name, going away to become anyone else. He cried and cried and changed.
And his username was "Hope"
"Hello, there, Matt!"
"Hey, Annabell! How was your night?"
Like a bunch of little robots going through their script, following a preset path towards…ah…the fire. It is gone now.
When all creatures are pig headed whores, there isn't really anyone left to watch.