Saturday, December 04, 2004
Here's a little something that i wrote for fun. Trying to improve my wirtting skills.
It's called The Death Parody.
Hope you like it, and no more sexual connotations from anybody, give CONSTRUCTIVE criticisms, ones that i can actually work with.
Hope you enjoy it.
For the first time, in a very long time. She stopped doing her job.
She just couldn’t carry on any longer, the faces, the tears, the anger, ooh, the anger.
They scream their hate at her, always screaming, like it was always her fault.
Her fault for coming to take them away, when it was their time to be taken. She couldn’t help it, it was in the job description, it was not her fault they had to blunder up their own lives and get themselves killed.
She was getting depressed, well, death is supposed to be depressing. There’s nothing happy about death.
The doom and gloom, making death- the skeleton in a hooded robe carrying a scythe- the bad guy. She wasn’t even a guy, in the first place. But that’s not the point, why must she be so victimised?
Having to deal with these wailing departees, wanting so desperately to grasp upon that cut thread of life falling out of reach, and they blaming her for coming too soon. They then kick and spit nasty words at her to no effect, asking her to bring them back, to put them back where they belong. Even though there’s not much left of them in the first place.
They hated her, she could see it in their eyes, the truth of no return, they hated her for it.
So she stopped doing her job, no more was she going to have to be the verbal punching bag of these imbeciles; who did not look when crossing the road, who decide to take to the high mountains in search of a newer more exciting sport, who decide to cheat on their psycho partners.
No more of this crap, she said to herself, I’m taking a long well deserved leave.
So she dropped everything and left for a holiday, retreating to the Caribbeans. Sipping her coconut juice, enjoying the waves, sand and sun. While all around the world, people were not dying.
In England, a said cannibal by the name of Albert Swoony, discovers that the girl he just cut open still had not died. Instead of screaming her way into unconciousness, his well-exposed victim had simply stared at her open chest, and gave a nonchalant " Ewww, is that how it looks inside." This had certainly put Albert in disgruntled mood, not being able to enjoy his meal, while his would-be platter commented in all the blonde attitude of the totally bogus situation.
I lost all creative juice after that, what you think?
Its a bit long winded right?
That was just over the top of my head but its a fine addition to what i've written so far.
PLease coment.
deadnessmaster live again at 11:54 PM