For the first time since I had been birthed into this hellish world, Sarah took a look at the form that she had assembled for herself. She picked up the ragdoll sprite of the corrupted Sonic the Hedgehog, closely inspecting it like an autopsy of her own mind and body. Dimming down the light and muting the surrounding music of the flying battery zone, the bright pink of its quills and white, dead skin shone like a shaving razor in the July sun. The pink reminded her of lazy Sundays. I can never remember why. Dim hell. From behind the sprites of the shifting fan I could see her stare deep into the vertical slits called eyes that she has carved into Luther and his co-workers craft. Plagiarism. Standing up the sprite now, she lifted the dingy yellow hands of the pixelated corpse. Everyday something today old same kills death.
Sarah looked furiously at it. She burst into tears, and then started to let out a scream that only her victims of immense human torture had let out. She fell to the ground, sobbing. Human Torture. I have never felt worse for any one person in my whole existence. The sky gave way to a horrendous crimson and black and verbally gashed a code to Sarah. She reluctantly looked at the lifeless body of herself and crept in through the gaping mouth. Bringing life to a digital Frankenstein. I don't think Sonic would be proud of her but I think he would be sorry for her. She grabbed my throat. Digital Frankenstein.
" because everyone in the hood has had it up to here. It's getting harder and harder each and every year."
April 21, 1992
- Sublime
