“Have I ever told you that I hate this time of year?” “No, I don’t think so,” Rue swings her feet, kicking at the air; a tiny dinosaur and a harried zombie meander along the street three stories below. “You do?” Arlene hums in reply, and glares at a giggling mass of sexy fruits. A bare-chested nurse runs after them, abs glistening in the fading light. “It’s just so surface.” ...
Dead thing sits on the floor, watching. Doesn’t move an inch. Its skull is a crushed mess and one of its eyes popped as it died, a mass of slime dripping down from its ruined cheek onto one of its perfectly formed and perfectly unblemished breasts. Death’s eager embrace didn’t care at all for its body; the trap’s jaws only took its too-curious head.
Originally posted to Twitter on August 8, 2022. With the click of a button the room fills with the mournful sounds of a funerary dirge, a piano’s mournful notes weaving through droning prayers and grief-filled tears. The music drips down the cold stone walls and across the marble slab— “Ugh, it’s so cold in here …” The body on the slab shifts just enough to stare at its companion. She’s shivering in a lacy black dress and mourning veil, nipples hard and skin goosebumped. ...