Here is a sample scene from the book I have been working on (the title of this post being an acronym for the title of the book, which I am not disclosing yet). Be aware that even though there is harsh content, it is even harsher on me; it hurts me to enter this world I have created, because the material weighs on me and everything is significant. You may have several concerns about what is happening in this passage, and believe me when I say I am fully aware of them.
By Isaac Summers
Just as suddenly as she had begun to speak, young little Mrs. Avangine was back on the cotton seat in the corner of a couch. The smell of cooking meat wafted to her sensitive nose, and it was not a pleasure. It gave her migraines, and the fan up above circling only made the cacophony of it all even worse. She could hear the voices elsewhere in the place over the mighty din from the small television on the dilapidated table. The notes were all devils to her personal stability. The accents placed on the syllables told her that this time things were worse than normal. Papa waddled in, his face lowered, trying to hold back something that could make him capsize. The screen door closed behind him as he left. The chilly wind had swept in as a figure who was comfortable with its surroundings. It padded its way to her and nuzzled her leg with its head. This used to help her, for she knew there was something there to comfort and to bond with. Now the touch's cold was felt more than it had before. It felt distant and unfeeling. The empty cushions did not disguise any absences. They were vacant, and nobody was really there. The wind was an echo of something that could never be attained. She was limited to her own little section of the world, where none would come over and sit down beside. The cushions gathered dust, and the fan only moved them, making room for someone never to come to sit, gradually letting all the little particles settle without finding any warm contact. The fan allotted those that already had trouble staying warm more opportunity to remain stagnant. The wind was not there. She looked down at its eyes that showed signs of love and trustful, devoted bondage. Those eyes glistened with feeling as it tried to understand her own, but whenever she stared deeper into it she would only see the glasses on the bench. This thing tried to connect with those it met who were less fortunate and to issue a reminder, though possibly without intention, to others that change is constant. This existence of hers likewise was constant, open to unknown interpretation. The wind's promises were to be taken into account and revered, though they all turned stale before they reached their desired destination. It was a curious thing that such an inferior being as the cloud that howled would have such an infinity for the inferiority of the downed fowl. Yes, she knew what she was supposed to benefit from it for, but it did not make easily calculable sense that she could love what was unfeeling and unkempt and that such a thing would also without question endow itself with such a respectable responsibility to/for her keeping as well. No. She couldn't think that way. The wind was her companion, and she shouldn't think such negative thoughts. It had always been there for her, and it would be most unjust of her to treat it like anything else but a benefactor that she could rely on and try to give gifts back to. The thing nodded its head. It could hear what she was thinking. It motioned with its head for her to follow it where it was going. She got off her seat and drifted after, the little wolf of curled air padding out the door. She followed it onto the neglected, but not overly distraught, deck and down the wooden stairs to the grass below. It took a left and made its way into the backyard with recently mowed strings of green strewn throughout. The tiny swing set, rarely used, was in the back to the far left of the tool shed. She then felt sorry. She had wanted to enjoy the equipment and the slide that lay beside, but the thrill never fully developed when she attempted to mount them, and her knees always were pushed up by either the ground or the plastic slope to fit. She drifted away from where her companion was heading, guessing without careful thought that it wanted her to play. Then she felt a prick on her neck and a knife in her back. She turned around, but only saw the wolf a short ways away, sitting on its haunches, staring at her with its eyes narrowed. She had disobeyed it again. She always had trouble paying attention. The eyes grew kinder. It lowered its head. It understood. It motioned with the head for her to follow again. It walked off again, she now trying to follow close behind so that it was always in her sight and so that she wouldn't get distracted by anything else of minute importance. The tell-tale canine stopped in front of the shed, its head entirely focused on the aging low-cut doors. “What is it?” she asked. The wolf didn't answer. It continued to stare with intensity at the thing before it. She crept forward and tried to see its line of focused sight. There was a tiny hole inbetween the doors, near the center. A peephole for something to look out from...The wind suddenly barked and slammed its mighty head where the gap lay dormant. A large crack appeared down the length of one of the fronts. The bundle of air pawed at this crack and swiped down piece after tiny piece of planking. After several seconds the doors were down, their scraps scattered throughout the yard. The wolf walked forward and vanished into the darkness undomesticated, but not entirely untamed, by light. Evangelical wondered if she was meant to follow. To be obedient she wished to move to search for it, but...her legs wouldn't obey. She was rooted to the spot, desperately trying to see in. There was a power beginning to seep out, a feeling of remorse and dread. She looked into the eye of defeat, a tender loin wishing to captivate and claim. It called her nickname out to her, crooning for her affection. “Evvvaaaaaaaaaaa...Evvvvvaaaaaaaaaaaa.” She then knew this thing hated her, for the name brought back images of a lowered body stooped over a toilet, a rod slapped on the back and a kick in the trunk. The tone changed with her misgivings. The black before her started to gasp and cough, invisible pathogens drifting out of the depths to slowly pass by her form. “Ev-a. Eeeeee-va.” A click of the tongue. “Did you forget about me in the attic, Ev-a? Did you mean to leave me rot with the discarded crayons that you broke without care or thought?” A shiver ran along her body, and a trickling run dribbled from her nose. The crayons. Where were they? Where had she put them? The rasping continued. “Eva. Ava Eva Ava Eva Ev-aaaaaaa. Why have you let yourself grow sad?” She found herself unconsciously mouthing along to the words arriving at her ears, as if following the lyrics of an often-heard song. The song. Oh, the song had long been lost from her mind. She again heard the boxes being lifted and moved around in the closet back at the old house. “Evvvvvvvv-a.” She couldn't concentrate on what was being said. The words of the song were entering her head, spelling out a memory that if she could only just reach (out) and possibly touch...
“The jolly heap ran ragged
To the department store.
The icing on the cake was
Better than from the moor.
“The dry embers of the traces
Of all that were thought lost
Were nothing but the shadows
Of all that were drained oft.
“The arrows were all lined up
Despite their casual rungs
For far fewer than the daggers
Were the Ancients tried for naught.
“The lemons stunk in autumn
Without a docile thought.
I never saw a leper
Who dared to ring them up.
“The children all were playing
Without their silly bibs.
The gracious Lord then spoke to me
Why should we let them sin?”
“Evvvvvv-a.” This time she heard the voice. It was closer to the gaping doorway than before. A red dot briefly flickered in the lair. “Why do you never listen to your elders, Eva?” A scrape was made on the floor. “Why must I remain so polite?” A brick was thrown out and hit her in the head. She couldn't feel it. It was already gone. “The music will always haunt you, Eva. The man with the stick will be broken before you're done.” The quaking continued. She could almost sense a head turning onto its shoulder in the dark. “What's the matter, honey? Did you want me to finish the song for you?” She tried to shake her head but couldn't do it. “Okay, then I will then.
“'The daughter wasn't feeling
Too good to search for hope.
She was locked inside her cabinet
Until the dry oaks pulped.
“'The children were all laughing
To behold her mangled back.
They all did notice the shadow
But thought it was what they did lack.
“'I notice from the balcony
The tears that I shall sack
The autumn moving closer now
Until I get my snack.
“'The trenches were all soaked within
For not until dawn would they unite
The snapping jaws, the flaming threads
Of the gestapo's candlelight.
“'The arrows were all lined up
Despite their casual rungs
For far fewer than the daggers
Were the Ancients tried for naught.
“'I married a fine owl
Though its neck I once did snap
The gilded claws, the melodies
Of our sanctioned travel nap.
“'The road goes ever yonder
Despite the honest claim.
I rubbed the children wrong, I did
When I showed them I could maim.'”
A pause for little Avangine to recollect her thoughts. Her hair was molting gray.
“'Their eyes are now so vacant
From all the good I've done.
I feel them all now shivering
Before their hearts are onnnnnnnnnnnnne.
Mine...
Donnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnne.'”
Silence. DRip. DRip. DRip went the nose. Her eyes sank lower. They were exposed. Her stature waning despite the climb, the mime shadowed indignity to time the rhyme. The darkness before her focused and then temporarily napped. A balding man was standing in the shed with a broken back, the head tilted up. His eyes were so silent, a red napkin tied around his forehead. The clothes were all black rags, the ties from sediment and the clasps to chemical agents. The arms were curled back to his chest, the pale complexion one with the cold. Every breath made was pronounced, discernible, audible. The eyes briefly dilated with a shaky intake of air. “Myyyyyy, look how big you've grown, my little Eva. The little rocking horse will not be able to hold you any longer, now, will it?” Phlaw. Phlaw. Phlaaaaaack! The coughs had ended with an intake lacking oxygen, dry flem flaring up. “My years feel longer now, my dear. Why don't you hug me to endear the weak?” The curled hands flipped up, the arms rolled forward, and then pushed off of each other from the front, spread out and stretched at the sides, bones creaking and cracking from previous ill use, the hunched back refusing to completely give in. “Come, my little Eva. Let me soak up the tears again.” The most she could manage was a quick shaking of her head furiously back and forth, her body knowing that “no” could be the only answer. The eyes lowered on the still raised head, the fingers now curling toward her, though still on the hands attached to the spread-eagled arms. The breaths went from high pitched rasps to deep, gurgling dollops. “My Eva, the wind is merely a magic trick. It can't help you when you are yelled at. That would be MY job, my little princess.” A hand moved down and back into the darkness behind and tugged the wolf forward, now flesh and bone, but silent and lifeless. The eyes were empty like they had always been, the fur still cold and unfeeling. “You see, Eva, my dear, even if you try to make your dreams a reality, they will remain empty. Empty empty empty. I have come back, my dear, because you needed me. I burn with an eternal fire, my ligaments saucers for liquid flame, the flesh only a cold casket keeping the tongues of amber glowing and feeding, feeling and breathing. Why, now you're shivering. Are my words so cold that you would quake before your mansion, my fortune?” He let the dead wolf drop to the ground, the newly freed arm moving forward, the palm facing her. “Eva, my darling, I welcome you back to me. You need only KISS my hand, and the uglies and the screaming will fade away as ashes before my judgment. I endear you, I have wallowed, I am charged with directing your affections. Why won't you HEAL me?” A big, rasping breath. “Why won't you heal ME, my little Eva? Why can't you help ME, you worthless wrench? Can't you see that I NEED you to fill ME?!” The eyes were beating red like the napkin plastered to the bald one's forehead. The weak but authoritative voice now grew stronger, building in immensity. “I TRUSTED you with all I was, Eva! And you left me to die! I never should have let you love me! I cried, I cried, and what did it get me? You lied, you lied, you told others that I didn't exist, that I was just a FIB! I loved you, I loved you, and you left me broken in the attic with all those you tossed away! I LOVED you, I LOVED you, and you HATED me! You HATED ME!” A shrill shriek emanated from his throat. “AAAAAAAAAAAAA!” The birds in the trees nearby took off into the air, dashing away from the drill that dug ever deeper. The man lowered his raised arm, the one with the palm now pushed forward. He started to slowly walk forward, his head lowered, his eyes focused on the little girl. Every word was now a growl, the jaw clenched, forcing the words out in a gale. “I TRRRRRRRRUSTED you, Eva. You LEFFFFFFFFFFT me, you little fuck.” The eyes were now stretched beyond what was normal. “I cared for you, I took you in and I never, ever, SPAT on you like you had so often deserved. Your poppa already did it for me, and there was no reason for me to yank that tiny head of yours off of where it was planted and plant it on the ground that I feebly stood on. I am WATCHING you, you little cunt. I realize now that I should have sliced you open before you were even born. I should have took your traits into my face and PULLED and TEARED you every way until your genetic materials DISSOLVED into the recesses of my decaying mouth.” He was nearly out from the cover of the shed now. “I NEED to relish your flesh, the flesh that never deserved to be formed. Don't you turn away from me! I WAS the father you should have loved, but YOU could ONLY love another. The one who MADE you, the one who turned AWAY when you needed him, only ever paying attention to remind you of what you were. You are a DEFORMITY, a BLOTCH on the moth-eaten canvas of humanity, JUST like ME! I reminded you that your lies would not end well. You told them you weren't special, that everything could be okay. I am a fib. And fibs can't do any harm, can they? A fib is okay. Except not to whom with to play. Well EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY. YOU WERE NEVER MEANT TO SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY! YOU WERE MEANT ONLY for ME! ME! I LOVED YOU! I ALONE! I NEEDED YOU! And you left ME? No, you left MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The deformed man dashed out from the cover of the shed, exploding into hundreds of wasps and hornets as his body entered into the sunlight. They charged forth toward the little girl standing there, unable to move. They soared at her face, wings extended, jowls snapping, pincers flexing, everlasting and never fasting. They reached for her eyes, larger than life, and the claws sank forward, grabbing, grasping, grating their needles forward toward her fragile pupils. They charged, they rained sideways as splashing puddles, nearing, leering, ever cheering. There they were, theretheyweretheretheywere there they...
Just as suddenly as she had begun to speak, young little Mrs. Avangine was back on the cotton seat in the corner of a couch. The smell of cooking meat wafted to her sensitive nose, and it was not a pleasure. It gave her migraines, and the fan up above circling only made the cacophony of it all even worse. She could hear the voices elsewhere in the place over the mighty din from the small television on the dilapidated table. The notes were all devils to her personal stability. The accents placed on the syllables told her that this time things were worse than normal. Papa waddled in, his face lowered, trying to hold back something that could make him capsize. The screen door closed behind him as he left. The chilly wind had swept in as a figure who was comfortable with its surroundings. It padded its way to her and nuzzled her leg with its head. This used to help her, for she knew there was something there to comfort and to bond with. Now the touch's cold was felt more than it had before. It felt distant and unfeeling. The empty cushions did not disguise any absences. They were vacant, and nobody was really there. The wind was an echo of something that could never be attained. She was limited to her own little section of the world, where none would come over and sit down beside. The cushions gathered dust, and the fan only moved them, making room for someone never to come to sit, gradually letting all the little particles settle without finding any warm contact. The fan allotted those that already had trouble staying warm more opportunity to remain stagnant. The wind was not there. She looked down at its eyes that showed signs of love and trustful, devoted bondage. Those eyes glistened with feeling as it tried to understand her own, but whenever she stared deeper into it she would only see the glasses on the bench. This thing tried to connect with those it met who were less fortunate and to issue a reminder, though possibly without intention, to others that change is constant. This existence of hers likewise was constant, open to unknown interpretation. The wind's promises were to be taken into account and revered, though they all turned stale before they reached their desired destination. It was a curious thing that such an inferior being as the cloud that howled would have such an infinity for the inferiority of the downed fowl. Yes, she knew what she was supposed to benefit from it for, but it did not make easily calculable sense that she could love what was unfeeling and unkempt and that such a thing would also without question endow itself with such a respectable responsibility to/for her keeping as well. No. She couldn't think that way. The wind was her companion, and she shouldn't think such negative thoughts. It had always been there for her, and it would be most unjust of her to treat it like anything else but a benefactor that she could rely on and try to give gifts back to. The thing nodded its head. It could hear what she was thinking. It motioned with its head for her to follow it where it was going. She got off her seat and drifted after, the little wolf of curled air padding out the door. She followed it onto the neglected, but not overly distraught, deck and down the wooden stairs to the grass below. It took a left and made its way into the backyard with recently mowed strings of green strewn throughout. The tiny swing set, rarely used, was in the back to the far left of the tool shed. She then felt sorry. She had wanted to enjoy the equipment and the slide that lay beside, but the thrill never fully developed when she attempted to mount them, and her knees always were pushed up by either the ground or the plastic slope to fit. She drifted away from where her companion was heading, guessing without careful thought that it wanted her to play. Then she felt a prick on her neck and a knife in her back. She turned around, but only saw the wolf a short ways away, sitting on its haunches, staring at her with its eyes narrowed. She had disobeyed it again. She always had trouble paying attention. The eyes grew kinder. It lowered its head. It understood. It motioned with the head for her to follow again. It walked off again, she now trying to follow close behind so that it was always in her sight and so that she wouldn't get distracted by anything else of minute importance. The tell-tale canine stopped in front of the shed, its head entirely focused on the aging low-cut doors. “What is it?” she asked. The wolf didn't answer. It continued to stare with intensity at the thing before it. She crept forward and tried to see its line of focused sight. There was a tiny hole inbetween the doors, near the center. A peephole for something to look out from...The wind suddenly barked and slammed its mighty head where the gap lay dormant. A large crack appeared down the length of one of the fronts. The bundle of air pawed at this crack and swiped down piece after tiny piece of planking. After several seconds the doors were down, their scraps scattered throughout the yard. The wolf walked forward and vanished into the darkness undomesticated, but not entirely untamed, by light. Evangelical wondered if she was meant to follow. To be obedient she wished to move to search for it, but...her legs wouldn't obey. She was rooted to the spot, desperately trying to see in. There was a power beginning to seep out, a feeling of remorse and dread. She looked into the eye of defeat, a tender loin wishing to captivate and claim. It called her nickname out to her, crooning for her affection. “Evvvaaaaaaaaaaa...Evvvvvaaaaaaaaaaaa.” She then knew this thing hated her, for the name brought back images of a lowered body stooped over a toilet, a rod slapped on the back and a kick in the trunk. The tone changed with her misgivings. The black before her started to gasp and cough, invisible pathogens drifting out of the depths to slowly pass by her form. “Ev-a. Eeeeee-va.” A click of the tongue. “Did you forget about me in the attic, Ev-a? Did you mean to leave me rot with the discarded crayons that you broke without care or thought?” A shiver ran along her body, and a trickling run dribbled from her nose. The crayons. Where were they? Where had she put them? The rasping continued. “Eva. Ava Eva Ava Eva Ev-aaaaaaa. Why have you let yourself grow sad?” She found herself unconsciously mouthing along to the words arriving at her ears, as if following the lyrics of an often-heard song. The song. Oh, the song had long been lost from her mind. She again heard the boxes being lifted and moved around in the closet back at the old house. “Evvvvvvvv-a.” She couldn't concentrate on what was being said. The words of the song were entering her head, spelling out a memory that if she could only just reach (out) and possibly touch...
“The jolly heap ran ragged
To the department store.
The icing on the cake was
Better than from the moor.
“The dry embers of the traces
Of all that were thought lost
Were nothing but the shadows
Of all that were drained oft.
“The arrows were all lined up
Despite their casual rungs
For far fewer than the daggers
Were the Ancients tried for naught.
“The lemons stunk in autumn
Without a docile thought.
I never saw a leper
Who dared to ring them up.
“The children all were playing
Without their silly bibs.
The gracious Lord then spoke to me
Why should we let them sin?”
“Evvvvvv-a.” This time she heard the voice. It was closer to the gaping doorway than before. A red dot briefly flickered in the lair. “Why do you never listen to your elders, Eva?” A scrape was made on the floor. “Why must I remain so polite?” A brick was thrown out and hit her in the head. She couldn't feel it. It was already gone. “The music will always haunt you, Eva. The man with the stick will be broken before you're done.” The quaking continued. She could almost sense a head turning onto its shoulder in the dark. “What's the matter, honey? Did you want me to finish the song for you?” She tried to shake her head but couldn't do it. “Okay, then I will then.
“'The daughter wasn't feeling
Too good to search for hope.
She was locked inside her cabinet
Until the dry oaks pulped.
“'The children were all laughing
To behold her mangled back.
They all did notice the shadow
But thought it was what they did lack.
“'I notice from the balcony
The tears that I shall sack
The autumn moving closer now
Until I get my snack.
“'The trenches were all soaked within
For not until dawn would they unite
The snapping jaws, the flaming threads
Of the gestapo's candlelight.
“'The arrows were all lined up
Despite their casual rungs
For far fewer than the daggers
Were the Ancients tried for naught.
“'I married a fine owl
Though its neck I once did snap
The gilded claws, the melodies
Of our sanctioned travel nap.
“'The road goes ever yonder
Despite the honest claim.
I rubbed the children wrong, I did
When I showed them I could maim.'”
A pause for little Avangine to recollect her thoughts. Her hair was molting gray.
“'Their eyes are now so vacant
From all the good I've done.
I feel them all now shivering
Before their hearts are onnnnnnnnnnnnne.
Mine...
Donnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnne.'”
Silence. DRip. DRip. DRip went the nose. Her eyes sank lower. They were exposed. Her stature waning despite the climb, the mime shadowed indignity to time the rhyme. The darkness before her focused and then temporarily napped. A balding man was standing in the shed with a broken back, the head tilted up. His eyes were so silent, a red napkin tied around his forehead. The clothes were all black rags, the ties from sediment and the clasps to chemical agents. The arms were curled back to his chest, the pale complexion one with the cold. Every breath made was pronounced, discernible, audible. The eyes briefly dilated with a shaky intake of air. “Myyyyyy, look how big you've grown, my little Eva. The little rocking horse will not be able to hold you any longer, now, will it?” Phlaw. Phlaw. Phlaaaaaack! The coughs had ended with an intake lacking oxygen, dry flem flaring up. “My years feel longer now, my dear. Why don't you hug me to endear the weak?” The curled hands flipped up, the arms rolled forward, and then pushed off of each other from the front, spread out and stretched at the sides, bones creaking and cracking from previous ill use, the hunched back refusing to completely give in. “Come, my little Eva. Let me soak up the tears again.” The most she could manage was a quick shaking of her head furiously back and forth, her body knowing that “no” could be the only answer. The eyes lowered on the still raised head, the fingers now curling toward her, though still on the hands attached to the spread-eagled arms. The breaths went from high pitched rasps to deep, gurgling dollops. “My Eva, the wind is merely a magic trick. It can't help you when you are yelled at. That would be MY job, my little princess.” A hand moved down and back into the darkness behind and tugged the wolf forward, now flesh and bone, but silent and lifeless. The eyes were empty like they had always been, the fur still cold and unfeeling. “You see, Eva, my dear, even if you try to make your dreams a reality, they will remain empty. Empty empty empty. I have come back, my dear, because you needed me. I burn with an eternal fire, my ligaments saucers for liquid flame, the flesh only a cold casket keeping the tongues of amber glowing and feeding, feeling and breathing. Why, now you're shivering. Are my words so cold that you would quake before your mansion, my fortune?” He let the dead wolf drop to the ground, the newly freed arm moving forward, the palm facing her. “Eva, my darling, I welcome you back to me. You need only KISS my hand, and the uglies and the screaming will fade away as ashes before my judgment. I endear you, I have wallowed, I am charged with directing your affections. Why won't you HEAL me?” A big, rasping breath. “Why won't you heal ME, my little Eva? Why can't you help ME, you worthless wrench? Can't you see that I NEED you to fill ME?!” The eyes were beating red like the napkin plastered to the bald one's forehead. The weak but authoritative voice now grew stronger, building in immensity. “I TRUSTED you with all I was, Eva! And you left me to die! I never should have let you love me! I cried, I cried, and what did it get me? You lied, you lied, you told others that I didn't exist, that I was just a FIB! I loved you, I loved you, and you left me broken in the attic with all those you tossed away! I LOVED you, I LOVED you, and you HATED me! You HATED ME!” A shrill shriek emanated from his throat. “AAAAAAAAAAAAA!” The birds in the trees nearby took off into the air, dashing away from the drill that dug ever deeper. The man lowered his raised arm, the one with the palm now pushed forward. He started to slowly walk forward, his head lowered, his eyes focused on the little girl. Every word was now a growl, the jaw clenched, forcing the words out in a gale. “I TRRRRRRRRUSTED you, Eva. You LEFFFFFFFFFFT me, you little fuck.” The eyes were now stretched beyond what was normal. “I cared for you, I took you in and I never, ever, SPAT on you like you had so often deserved. Your poppa already did it for me, and there was no reason for me to yank that tiny head of yours off of where it was planted and plant it on the ground that I feebly stood on. I am WATCHING you, you little cunt. I realize now that I should have sliced you open before you were even born. I should have took your traits into my face and PULLED and TEARED you every way until your genetic materials DISSOLVED into the recesses of my decaying mouth.” He was nearly out from the cover of the shed now. “I NEED to relish your flesh, the flesh that never deserved to be formed. Don't you turn away from me! I WAS the father you should have loved, but YOU could ONLY love another. The one who MADE you, the one who turned AWAY when you needed him, only ever paying attention to remind you of what you were. You are a DEFORMITY, a BLOTCH on the moth-eaten canvas of humanity, JUST like ME! I reminded you that your lies would not end well. You told them you weren't special, that everything could be okay. I am a fib. And fibs can't do any harm, can they? A fib is okay. Except not to whom with to play. Well EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY. YOU WERE NEVER MEANT TO SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY! YOU WERE MEANT ONLY for ME! ME! I LOVED YOU! I ALONE! I NEEDED YOU! And you left ME? No, you left MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The deformed man dashed out from the cover of the shed, exploding into hundreds of wasps and hornets as his body entered into the sunlight. They charged forth toward the little girl standing there, unable to move. They soared at her face, wings extended, jowls snapping, pincers flexing, everlasting and never fasting. They reached for her eyes, larger than life, and the claws sank forward, grabbing, grasping, grating their needles forward toward her fragile pupils. They charged, they rained sideways as splashing puddles, nearing, leering, ever cheering. There they were, theretheyweretheretheywere there they...
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