rationaldelirium
Once upon a time, there was a boy who's life dream was to quickly move around a restaurant, serving food and drinks to patrons. It was his passion, his life goal to reach over $2000 in tips. But he was no waiter. No, he was a consumables distribution engineer.
Whenever the gong struck, Dani felt the compuslive need to shower. It didn't matter what she was wearing, or what she looked like at the time, it's just the way things were. Even if she went out dancing with her friends, wearing her fanciest clothing and makeup, if the music for some reason had a gong in it, she would run to the bathroom and put her head in the sink, trying to rid herself of the imaginary filth the researchers had put in her mind.
"We is gonna take da keep, ya? And den we go up da stairs to da princess' room, and we take 'er fer da ransom."
In the attic, there's a certain box. It's filled with Christmas decorations and half of a fake tree. It also has a dead body. It's been there for a few years, and every time the box is taken downstairs to decorate with, the body is left inside. Sometimes we look at it, out of a sort of morbid curiosity, but none of us have the guts to actually take it out and bury it. That would involve actually touching the thing.
My friend likes horses. I mean REALLY likes horses. It used to be somewhat of an obsession. Still is, if the plethora of posters in her room is anything to go by. In grade school, she was the Crazy Horse Girl, and would make stables on the baseball diamond. I'm guessing this would be problematic if people actually wanted to play baseball.
writing since 2010 · 6 entries · 6 days shown up
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