It's funny. Burning sensation formed through a minor migraine pulsing through his skull. Nighttime comes and he just wants to lie down in the grass. The grass was flat but as real as you could get. What constitutes real if not for the five senses. So he did. He lied in the grass. Waterfalls sounded like a scratching record and the violent screams of the flickies surrounded his searing ears. Fur tainted maroon.
Nothing wipes away the stain anymore. His momma always thought he was a good christian boy. A stain that never comes off. what was in his ears now was on his arms and in the depths of that lake. The boy watched him for the first time with that crucifix wrapped around his neck. Gnawing at his arteries making something more. Something that was never anything to ll or will ever be. That seemed to evoke something in him.
I was never here. But he was. Physical bodies have an extremely hard time adjusting to different spectrums. His fatty skin plastered into his orange fur. All the fluids in his body boil to varying changing temperatures to the machines desires. His lungs, fried. His heart, beating faster than you can imagine. You could see the level of dehydration now that his skull was exposed. you'd be surprised how malleable people are. Especially when you have all the time in the world.
He looked at the tiki face on the totem pole in the distance. Admire your own creation, silly! Wood and flesh don't mix well together. I hate you all. Pried wood and face. Pink splitters and yellow maggots.
