alienmom-fbi
I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free
Unless, of course, I'm a young black man
Then it's detainment and forced labor for me
deaths of salesman never seem to attract a crowd. harold hill's funeral was the most well-attended of any salesman that ever scammed below the mississippi line.
he threw the controller on the ground. "fuck this fucking game!"
she poked her head around the corner.
"babe, you're gonna break the last controller if you keep playing mario paint.
"The good are in the basement." The message came late at night, slipped under the door. Her heart beat fast as she descended the staircase. It took some searching, but she found them. A hand flew to her mouth, but her husband's baseball bat hit her head before she could scream.
She sealed his death with a kiss. When he had coughed and choked and spit blood, when he had begged and keeled over and died, she sealed his coffin too, and kissed the wood. Sealed.
She had never felt the need to contribute, well, anything. She was sick, after all. It was them that needed to contribute, not her. Contribute to her wellbeing, to the family wealth, to the world. She was not expected to contribute anything at all to the world. It hadn't contributed anything to her, after all.