On the Road By Jack Kerouac

“I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”

Monday, 24 September 2012

Becoming toast. Writing this made me hungry.

My surroundings are still and quiet as I lay on the hard, tiled surface. I hear approaching footsteps and the clashing sound of cutlery. Is this my time? Is what all of the other slices have been talking about? I heard one of them say that the end slice looked like a heap of dust by the time he was finished. The thought paralyses me as I await my impending doom.

A familiar face appears before me. A giant. Greed and hunger burning in his eyes. "Breakfast time!" he announces, in such a tone that certifies my end. Hands reach out and grab me, handling me without the slightest ounce of care or delicacy.

I am swung around in mid air like a rag doll. And... What? Where is this? I am placed into a dark slot, surrounded by cold, shiny walls. My very own prison cell. Never have I felt so alone and terrified for the events that have yet to unfold. The scent of ashes from my previous friends radiates the small space and makes me feel nauseous.

Suddenly, as a sharp click occurs, red hot lights appear out of no where, burning my eyes as well as my doughy flesh. That familiar stench fills up the kitchen. Why oh why me? I plead for mercy, but my cries are unheard. CLICK! I shoot upwards and the brightness hits me like ball of sunlight.

I am chucked down onto the cold side like a piece of disposable garbage. What is this weapon of choice? The giant holds a sword of which he coats in a creamy substance. I assume I will be smothered in a matter of seconds.

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