Monday, November 22, 2010

But I Don’t Wanna

I really, really don’t. I don’t want to edit this thing. It’s too much like work. It feels fake to even read it. I just want to write and write and write and write until my hands hurt and my eyes bleed. I only want to stop writing to read. But not read in the conventional sense. I want to gorge on information. To stuff my brain with data until I can feel the vicious tears in the ethereal fabric of my mind as I greedily mash more facts and experiences into my open maw of a brain.

Jeeze, I hate that word, ‘maw’. Okay, I love it: It’s vulgar, it elicits a mental image of a bestial creature, nasty in every imaginable way covered in more kinds of filth that you want to devote too much thought towards, and reeking of seven shades of ****.

With its one remaining eye, milky and filled with filth, it gazes at the sky, rage filling its vision. The foul beast’s skin is scaly and hardly fits its frame, and its more sores than anything else. It ambles upon a rock and angles its horrifying and misshapen head in a manner that shows its neck bend in a way that manages to sicken you further.

As if an attempt to feast on the entirety of the night sky, this hellish monster languidly opens its filth-encrusted maw, teeth ageless, and pointing in multiple directions, and a two tongues to better facilitate this disgusting creature’s lustful appetite.

It roars its anguish as it attempts to eat the night, and ends its own torment by eating a final supper of its pair of prehensile tongues, snapping them off and engorging its belly with its own blood.



See? I’ll do anything to get out of work. GAH!

Give me one word or phrase to write a 300-word super-short story about.


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