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i killed him all right. i walked up behind him and i stabbed him between his thoracic cage and i watched him seize the ground like he was kissing his mother. i watched him bleed for a few minutes and i watched him beg and i watched him cry and i watched him struggle when he tried to crawl and i watched him dance his failing breaths as they left his lips. i also watched his sight fade to blackness when i stuck the knife into his throat. i told them it was self-defense, and they believed me.

it was calming, the silence. it didn't seem to last very long, but it was calming still to sit across from the woman and watch her reaction. she looked almost like she wanted to open her mouth and ask me something else, but she kept her posture and she didn't say word. i scraped some dirt off the side of the shoe and said, "you don't have any other questions." her eyes were like fire. "would you mind if i ask a few more?" i got the impression she still recognized me as a child, and this was the mistake i knew she was doomed to repeat over and over, no matter how many times my answers set her straight. it was like american histo

something country was playing in the back of my head. it was coming from the speakers behind the cell, and i couldn't shut it off. hicks versing about "lovin' highways" and "cruisin' sigh ways" drove me to kick one of the bars with my shoe until it felt like breaking off, but finally the song changed to more country. i'd been staying at the station for two days at that point, keeping low in the holding cell until they could contact my uncle or something. they were going to put in the protection of child services, but i told them that if they did that i would run away, or jump off a bridge, onto thick, jagged rocks, to my death,

i rode home from school on my bike but i wrecked and crashed into this kid who started crying. i told him to shut up but he wouldn't so i hit him until he stood up and ran away. i laughed at him but i had to hurry back home. just before i put my bike away my mom called to me. she said i needed to take out the trash so i threw the sack in the can. our cat was gnawing at my pants, so i picked her up and put her in there too. i laughed as i closed the lid. i watched the next morning as the trash guy came by and tossed the can in the back of his truck. i listened as i heard the cat meowing just before the compactor crushed it.

Hello, My name is Arthur and I write this now as my manifesto... or rather, my plea to the citizens of this fine community. Though many find it to be what others deem worthy to identify it as a manifesto, I would choose not to use this term as, in truth, its basic, more inauthentic dealings with other scribers have since prompted the term itself to be rendered meaningless; therefore, as the whole purpose of this request is to warm the reader and stimulate open-mindedness, I ask that you not read it as a manifesto but rather my heart’s passage through deviantART. I shall start with our coming here. I, and Redmond, came here with one tas

little werdie terdies maek faces shaped like apple droppins toppin monkey poppins that alweys forget to say oops moer of them speak butt speech in my holes but thru cages so my knife cant punctuer ther souls leaving me to douse ther mouths with whitey souths ugley cracker

drip drop dont stop his werds flutter stutter my head away like cars that crash into kiddies