Chicken Scratches

October 21, 2010
Filmy, viscous membrane.
Stagnant. Disgusting. Thick. Sick.
Sizzle Fizzle Whimper.
A sharp, shrill shock and a short, still stop.
Scarlet roses of blood blooming over cold, pale flesh.
Infer, assume, inquire.
Explain. Exclaim. Entertain.
“I still can’t hear you, Al!” Tyler laughed insanely, face down in the dirt. A sick mess of blood, snot and saliva oozing from his face.
Inane. Vapid. Hollow.
Wicker. Lead. Leave.
Orange Tabby Cats.
Soft. Sweet. Warm. Rounded. Feminine. Goldie and Shellie, but not Gaile. Gaile was a trollop.
Swiftly fleeting feet.
Destruction, devastation, vacation.
“Can we get this over with?” Marv growled in his throat, boldly eyeing the faceless man in front of him as his newly shaved head was fitted with a rubber hat connected to an electric chair. “I haven’t got all day.”
And a switch was flipped.
Devotion. Prostitution. Pornographic.
Introspection. Expedition.
“In one can simply obtain one hundred monkeys from the wild, stuff them in a room with a type writer and end up with the works of Shakespeare, I’m forced to assume that one could simply obtain one hundred average people from the wild, stuff them in a room with a type writer, and end up with the works of a monkey.”

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