Vermilioncore
Fear…
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2019
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This is a story based on true events.
Pain sat, glancing around the room, semblances of familiar memories plagued him.
“We’re here again. Inside him.”
“Inside who?” The other Pain Cell replied in haste.
“The one we were always in.”
“Oh,” he replied, “him…again?!”
“Don’t you remember? This is our home. Forever.”
“Shit, I almost forgot. Let’s continue to torture the living fuck out of him until he kills himself so we finally can move on to someone else.”
And, the Pains continue their rampage across the soul. They sucked the mind of all its sanity and hope. Leaches were mirror images of them. And leached they appeared to be. Big, invisible leaches, sucking the host of all it’s hope, life, joy, happiness, and youth.
Once the man committed suicide with a shotgun blast to the head, Pain finally packed its bags.
“Wait, let’s do our routine,” one Pain said to the other, before abandoning the defaced carcass.
“Routine?”
And the Pain took a fat greasy shit inside the heart of the dead poor bastard.
“Oh! That routine.”
They ran from the corpse, like jolly children coming out of a candy store, and left the rotting loser to its solitude with only the fresh stench of wretched shit to keep it company.
The end
Pain sat, glancing around the room, semblances of familiar memories plagued him.
“We’re here again. Inside him.”
“Inside who?” The other Pain Cell replied in haste.
“The one we were always in.”
“Oh,” he replied, “him…again?!”
“Don’t you remember? This is our home. Forever.”
“Shit, I almost forgot. Let’s continue to torture the living fuck out of him until he kills himself so we finally can move on to someone else.”
And, the Pains continue their rampage across the soul. They sucked the mind of all its sanity and hope. Leaches were mirror images of them. And leached they appeared to be. Big, invisible leaches, sucking the host of all it’s hope, life, joy, happiness, and youth.
Once the man committed suicide with a shotgun blast to the head, Pain finally packed its bags.
“Wait, let’s do our routine,” one Pain said to the other, before abandoning the defaced carcass.
“Routine?”
And the Pain took a fat greasy shit inside the heart of the dead poor bastard.
“Oh! That routine.”
They ran from the corpse, like jolly children coming out of a candy store, and left the rotting loser to its solitude with only the fresh stench of wretched shit to keep it company.
The end
