She twirled her chesnut curls around her
- She twirled her chesnut curls around her fingers, her vintage flower print dress swishing past her swedish sofa, her japanese cat clock chiming in her ears. Her young face smiled.
- She was a porcelain doll in motion, warm brown ringlets clinging to her shoulders in the sun of the bay window. The smile drained from her face at her mother's return. No amount
- of hiding this time would save the little porcelain from getting ruined by mother. She was
- dead, stuffed and in a rocking chair in the basement. I couldn't get mother's voice out of my head but
- I reckoned a sufficient ammount of Justin Bieber songs could help me put myself into a pretty decent self-induced coma. Terried, I grabbed
- a stick and threw it for Buster to fetch. By the time the dog had returned, the coma was complete. As far as I can tell, Buster dragged me to the docks where I was shipped to
- BFE ASAP on DHL. My ETD form was MIA so the SOB at HQ said it was a SNAFU and called in the FBI. Meanwhile, I was still in a coma. Next stop, RIP. When the
- ITF (Initialism Task Force, who aren't OK with ACRONYM, BS on the WWW, or RATM) discovered me, they carried away my YABA-compatible, on-the-DL, comatose body to their USSR pad.
- The escort van of my imprisonment rattled and rolled by a force-only rocket blast. The nonlethal weapon was hallmark of the West Mississippi Plastic Pants Task Force. I knew then
- that my rescue was eminent. I'd soon be proudly wearing the orange plastic pants & reflective vest, scouring the highways of West Mississippi for trash & woe to the litterbugs!
- Started
- 2011-01-26 11:02:49
- Finished
- 2011-09-22 17:19:05
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