A little thing I farted out just now
What do you think? What needs working on? Is this thread autistic?
Chris Chandler pondered over the strange book that he found. It had been several years since the fire, the blue arms incident, the death of his mother Barbara, the downfall of his Tomgirlism and a multitude of other harrowing events. He rummaged around 13 Branchland Court, not caring to fix or pick up a thing surrounding him except for his ever so precious legos. Through all of his harrowing years, Christian certainly had never seen a book like this before. It was a bright yellow, bound in a sort of leather, and its pages were ripped and torn, despite him never laying eyes on it. Disturbed somewhat, Chris began reading it. The pages were strewn with crude scribbles that represented some form of writing, and with crude scribbles that represented some form of characters. The figures were primitive and simply mere suggestions. They floated in a void, changing and twisting their shape every so often. The story seemed nonsensical, and almost aped the trademark Chandler style. Characters did things, but then forgot about things and went on long angry rants about strange beings. These beings weren’t simply “trolls” or “4CentGarbage” but instead something bigger. Something far beyond the comprehension of the 40-year-old child. They writhed within his mind, eldritch things with many hands and many eyes, many mouths and many thoughts. He felt within the clutches of something, or possibly nothing masquerading as something. Whatever it was, the damned thing loomed over him until he was truly that damned thing. He now knew of Those who Came from the Stars ages upon ages past, the gods from Far Blackness.
Sonithu had arisen.
Sonithu had arisen.
.
