The Sexually Confused, Burnt Up Pile of Shit I Call a Story

Today, I've come back to tell you all a little story. You do remember me, don't you? Yes, yes, of course you do. You have to. I'm that guy, yeah. That guy that you remember. No one really ever does. Those who do don't seem to like me too much.

This one day, yes the day I met you. It was on the streets, going on 5:00 PM. Yeah, you didn't seem too interested, walking past me and all. Not even turning your head the slightest even though I clearly stopped in my tracks to plainly stare at you. Rude.

I followed you home in hopes of your obliviousness subsiding for a brief moment to notice me. Indeed you did, and you had that strange look on your face- worried, disgusted... I wouldn't know. You quickly walked home and shut the door right in my face. But as you were leaving the next day, you found me standing there. Right where you left me that night. I stayed there all night waiting just for you.

Those cops let me go, I know you know that much. I was a little angry at you, ya know. But that anger's fuse burnt out when I saw you again. I followed you all day, watching every little thing you did. Your very cute when you eat like a pig.

It was that night I aroused you from your slumber. Apparently a broken window was such a big deal. You seemed to have a problem with my presence at the time. I was a friend, wasn't I? You knew me! I knew you! Inside and out I knew you- every late thing. I loved you and I knew you loved me back. But for some reason you started screaming. Why did you kick me? I proceeded to pick at your pajama bottoms... you kick me right in the face. I lost one of my teeth. Screaming away, you tried to get up and run. I caught your leg and you tumbled like a tree. I pleaded reasoning to you and you slapped me away. I tinkered with your bottoms again. You had adorable underwear. Then you managed to get up and grab a knife. You stabbed me right in the damn groan. I became very annoyed.

Then you got that... t-that thing! That God forsaken match you pulled and lit. You had other weapons: knives, a pizza cutter, I know you like playing baseball with that metal bat of yours! Why that!? You you flicked it at me and ran to your parents. I took care of them long before I attended to you. They were good, I think Dad did a better job making out. Mom was too squirmy.

By the time you dashed out of your home and on to the neighbors I was burnt to the bone. My skin had melted off like ice cream in the Summer. My big, bulgy, beautiful hazel eyes and my wet, slimy tongue burnt and boiled. Do you know how bad burnt fur smells? My blood evaporated. All that was left was my hyper realistic bones! A friend of mine may like fire, and I am used to an occasional burn, but this was too much.

My soul could not rest until I got a taste of you though. The Dark Lord himself allowed me to wander Earth instead of having me burn for an eternity. My soul searched for a Emerald and used it to travel back in time and did a few things differently- effectively erasing all that had happened. This time my mental powers came in handy. My soul did not have a body, so I had to posses my own flesh. Not that hard, really. I got you. I got you good.

You were better than the others; A child no less than 6 years of age didn't have as much fear as I would have liked. A 24 year old man put up too much of a fight. That old woman was too easy. The dead body I dug up that I stashed away was broken and a pregnant woman I had was bumpy. I did cut out her fetus, however, and that wasn't even fully developed. Animals were too willing most of the time. But you, you were grand. But I'm not sure what thing I like best. Children maybe, but what gender? Hmmm... As for you, I liked you the best, Iblis Trigger.

You may have burnt me in the reality as well, and He allowed me at walk mortal ground once more, but I retain my form. I'm coming for you. And trust me, you will see me. You might have a hard time picking me out. I want the the thought of a deathly dreamy absolution creeping in your mind. In order for that, I need you to be able to see and pick me out. Just remember this poem:

I am a skeleton, a black one at that,

Bad luck will strike like a witch's black cat,

When my presence reveals, in your mind it's sat.

Crispy, crunchy, toasty, lovely,

I'm slowly coming my dovely,

And every night I creep awake

In my Dream Of an Absolution.

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