death lesson 28
Rumple was looking for new Jerusalem the city in the sky. Floating out there on the horizon like some distant hope that had manifested itself to the world at large. The business of the rainbow road kept him in doubt, which was the whole point, wasn't it? Miscolored bricks contrasting and isolating each other in the multitude while also blurring together. Like crispy rice treats made from fruity pebbles.
"what has become, of greatness? Or of ancient truth? That of glory and power, flowing like sweetwater sewn through the fields of our labor. " rumple did not know who his audience was, but he was hamming up the melodrama for someone other than himself. But God wasn't listening as he was off on other business. So rumple continued down the road one plush foot after the other down the road to wherever the fates flowed.
Emily was a witch, who had loved more than her share of fuckboys and considered it a duty to purify there soul. Through the dolls granted to them by destiny. She would stick them with needles and say "is that what you like? Sticking your kind mama's but it isn't so nice when she sticks you is it?" she freed them after a while only keeping them long enough to correct their immoral behavior. Only the torturing like a teacher of zazen would strike you on the shoulder. It was as much encouragement as it was punishment.
She had freed the last of her fuckboys six months ago. Sending them back into the world to hopefully not do nearly as much damage as they had done before. Though she had little faith in them to stay right and correct on the path of the rainbow road. "Time and space paradoxical," she said, "that and judgment make the sun rise and set."
Emily hard rotten teeth and wore an ankh necklace, while also having the tendency to dress like a Victorian prostitute. She was as old as time and had milk-white skin contrasted by the black lines of tattoos all over her. A pentagram on her throat. 666 on her forehead. And a photo-realistic fetus smoking crack tattooed on her belly.
Emily (internal monolog) - "I haven't found it yet, the prayer or the gift. The means to save these feeble men from the madness of chauvinism. Still, oh well. What can be said, the last one seems scared enough. Kind of broken and bitter in his own way. Kind of tired and sad in another. What is the incantation to let them see there mistake? what is the necessary ingredient to make them understand they have done wrong?"
Rumple saw an old shack and decided it was best to scout it out and see if any fuckboys needed saving. To see if any of his brethren were being persecuted. To see if any trapped in a circle of self-destruction could be brought forward to salvation. Sharing the light with those that had suffered, likewise at the hands of the witches. those that needed only to be told: "no more suffering for you."
He was hiding in the bushes outside of her house when he felt a durable hand wrap around the back of his neck and lift him into a sack like a caught rabbit. He was kicking and screaming as Emily said wistfully "now deary, don't worry I can fix you." the door closed behind them leaving you outside watching.
"what has become, of greatness? Or of ancient truth? That of glory and power, flowing like sweetwater sewn through the fields of our labor. " rumple did not know who his audience was, but he was hamming up the melodrama for someone other than himself. But God wasn't listening as he was off on other business. So rumple continued down the road one plush foot after the other down the road to wherever the fates flowed.
Emily was a witch, who had loved more than her share of fuckboys and considered it a duty to purify there soul. Through the dolls granted to them by destiny. She would stick them with needles and say "is that what you like? Sticking your kind mama's but it isn't so nice when she sticks you is it?" she freed them after a while only keeping them long enough to correct their immoral behavior. Only the torturing like a teacher of zazen would strike you on the shoulder. It was as much encouragement as it was punishment.
She had freed the last of her fuckboys six months ago. Sending them back into the world to hopefully not do nearly as much damage as they had done before. Though she had little faith in them to stay right and correct on the path of the rainbow road. "Time and space paradoxical," she said, "that and judgment make the sun rise and set."
Emily hard rotten teeth and wore an ankh necklace, while also having the tendency to dress like a Victorian prostitute. She was as old as time and had milk-white skin contrasted by the black lines of tattoos all over her. A pentagram on her throat. 666 on her forehead. And a photo-realistic fetus smoking crack tattooed on her belly.
Emily (internal monolog) - "I haven't found it yet, the prayer or the gift. The means to save these feeble men from the madness of chauvinism. Still, oh well. What can be said, the last one seems scared enough. Kind of broken and bitter in his own way. Kind of tired and sad in another. What is the incantation to let them see there mistake? what is the necessary ingredient to make them understand they have done wrong?"
Rumple saw an old shack and decided it was best to scout it out and see if any fuckboys needed saving. To see if any of his brethren were being persecuted. To see if any trapped in a circle of self-destruction could be brought forward to salvation. Sharing the light with those that had suffered, likewise at the hands of the witches. those that needed only to be told: "no more suffering for you."
He was hiding in the bushes outside of her house when he felt a durable hand wrap around the back of his neck and lift him into a sack like a caught rabbit. He was kicking and screaming as Emily said wistfully "now deary, don't worry I can fix you." the door closed behind them leaving you outside watching.
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