The familiar smell of the ocean woke him up. His eyes and throat burning, he tried to adjust himself to the surroundings. No seagulls, no sound of the soft waves lapping at the shore. The fresh, salty smell wafting in from no discernible breeze. There was no breeze, in fact. None of the regular wild and semi-domesticated animals that roam around freely. No sounds of people or cars. Just a low buzzing noise that seemed to point him East.
Jairo. He remembered his name was Jairo. He was just a child but completely unable to remember his age. His clothes told no tales. He wore a plain t-shirt and blue jeans. Both heavily worn but mostly clean. Except the sand. There was sand all over his body. The salt smell clung to him as he walked. The sand falling off him with every movement. The buzzing only getting louder and louder. He felt the vibration in his skull as he approached a fence fashioned out of driftwood.
As he got closer and closer he could hear the chatter of a small group of something. It sounded like voices but not human voices. He could tell they were talking about him even without the help of a language he could understand. He continued onward in spite of the voices that terrified him so. He wandered further and further into the vast and empty East. The day dragged on forever. The intense heat radiated off the ground and back at the poor child. He wore no shoes; every step was more and more excruciating. The further he went, the more pain he was subject to.
The boy carried on until dark. It was a strange dark. The voices had long since left him with nothing but the mysterious buzzing. The night was still. No moon or stars to be seen. The boy had decided to rest as he could carry on no further.
He awoke to being dragged by something tall, lanky and largely unseen. It appeared to be wearing a cloak of sorts but it was of no familiar fabrics. It moved with the creature as if it were alive. Jairo choked on the scream in his throat, he was crying but could not make a sound. It burned with the same dry heat of the ground.
The tall thing stopped at a large, ornate metal gate. Above the gate a sign read “Infierno”.
Jairo understood that much and tried to escape but the tall thing would not let him go. The tall thing twisted its head at the boy. It’s gnarled face pushed into an awkward smile. It spoke in an unfamiliar language but the message was clear. "Welcome home."
I think I’d be justifiably terrified if a tree tried to eat me.
Just a thought.
I mean, really. Walking about minding my own business when a tree wraps an appendage around me and scoops me into some gaping maw? Tell me that’s not damned scary. How would they even describe that in a proper eulogy? “The girl was eaten by a tree.” end of story.
That’s kind of lazy, actually.
I hope that if I am ever eaten by a tree it’s not infested with termites.
File this under : Things that irk the shit out of me (and why I’m not really a typical goth kid)
I don’t hate cemetery photos. Some tombs are quite elaborate and beautiful. Even in decay they prove a popular photographic subject.
What I do hate are whore-y “I hate you mom and dad, lookit me I’m soooo fucking deep and creepy” photos of girls in uber short skirts and ridiculous parasols (I love parasols, just an irritant in this setting) straddling some poor old granny’s grave because her last name happens to be Burton or some such.
It’s fucking stupid and disrespectful.
The pretty Victoriana ones are different. They aren’t disgusting so much. The pretty clothes and general air of respect. That I can get my head around. The other shit is just cunty fluff.
Please join my cause: "Life for Jesus-Lets see how many people we can find that are not ashamed to admit they love Jesus"
The only Jesus I ever loved was a gardener.
No, seriously. My dearest bestest best friend (from ten years ago) sent me this today. She knows my belief-non-belief system as we shared it for years and years. I’m not insulted by her plight, I am insulted that she should know me better than to even suggest it.
Ever buy a pizza based on the photo on the box? I mean, fuck, delicious cheese and soooo many toppings and a fraction of the price of Pizza Hut. You bring it home and get ready to make sweet mouth love to it only to find, once stripped from it’s cardboard lingerie, it’s nothing but cardboard itself dressed up in tomato abortion and imitation cheese.
Fuck you, frozen pizza. You will not live to rue this day.
When you consider the problem of free will, do you find yourself supporting a more deterministic worldview or do you believe that volition is a real force for changing the course of events in the universe?
ALSO CAN I SEE YER BOOBIEZ PLZ
To start, free will isn’t so much the problem, it’s the determination to make it so limited that is. The way to change is chaos. Simple.
Are you the only one on the internet that hasn’t seen my tits?