Pallas Athena (Armored Figure), attr. to Rembrandt, ca. 1655
Looks like a cool spot to pop a squat. =]
December 13th, 1952.
Annabelle turned 16 today, celebrating her cumulative years with a modest gathering of her so-called friends and neighbors. Eleven people from near her home arrived in time for cake without a single gift among them. They were greeted by Annabelle’s father at the door and welcomed in spite of their unanimous thoughtlessness; offered food and drink and treated as cordially as one would expect from a hard-working, blue-collared single father. They all commented favorably on the home-baked pastry while Annabelle sat quietly in her white birthday dress without ever getting a chance to say a word. She silently watched her father serve the gluttonous freeloaders seconds and thirds until the cake that could feed 30 was gobbled down to leftover crumbs and flakes of creamy icing that couldn’t fill the stomach of a mouse. One portly, middle-aged woman even complained about not receiving a third piece and Annabelle’s father simply apologized and smiled. The woman felt it was unfair that those who wanted a third were allowed to have one whereas she was never asked and now it was too late. The father politely explained that, unfortunately, with eleven people, the servings didn’t divide as equally as he’d hoped, but the woman found herself offended by his wanting hospitality and got up to leave.
“I hope that next time” she bickered. “you’ll be better prepared for the amount of people you invite to your home.” She turned to Annabelle before she left an apologized. “I’m so sorry dear, that you’ve been forced to live under they roof as such an unthoughtful man.“ And she turned to walk away.
She headed for the door and found her legs were slightly numb, probably a result of sitting awkwardly for too long, and she stumbled clumsily, bumping into the door’s frame as she walked through.
"Looks to me she may’ve had one too many.” One of the husbands muttered for all to hear, and the ten remaining guests laughed at the woman’s expense as she left.
Annabelle giggled too, with her head down, properly hiding her smile, and the man who offered up the joke choked a little on his laugh and the cake in his mouth. The rest continued to eat their third piece and found that they too had a hard time swallowing without laughing even more.
Soon chunks of half chewed dessert were spilling off the numbing lips of the crowd of gluttons and the sight of themselves made them all chuckle uncontrollably. Annabelle giggled at the chorus of overweight men and women chortling like lunatics and looked over to her father who had his bright eyes staring right back at her with a loving smile.The crowd was soon hysterical, barking with laughter and rolling around on the couch and even the floor, holding their bellies from the pain of incessant, humorous convulsions with tears dribbling down there rosy, chubby cheeks. Annabelle watched with wondrous awe while her father’s house guests began to choke on their own swelling tongues, reaching into their throats with desperate fingers, trying to clear a path to breathe. The father calmly strolled over to where his daughter had sat with one hand behind his back and squatted down to giver her a kiss on the cheek.
“Happy birthday, baby girl." He brought his hidden arm into view which held a large knife in his hands; light glistening off the surface of its blade almost as vibrantly as it did from the gloss covering here eyes. "Would you like to cut the cake?"
She squealed in excitement, jumped up and took the knife from her father’s loving hand as the last of the laughers slipped into an asphyxiated sleep of death.
"But, daddy,” She wondered. “What about Mrs. Godfrey?” She was referring to the cow who had prematurely gotten away.
He smiled and gave her a pinch on her cheek then took her hand in his. He walked her to the front door and opened the screen for them to gaze outside. The esteemed Mrs. Godfrey hadn’t gotten past the porch before she lost control of her faculties. She was not as drugged as the others; she hadn’t eaten a fatal dose. But she had a killer case of the giggles, rolling around on the walkway leading to their home, docile enough to be entirely helpless. A perfect specimen, she turned out to be, for a lovely young ladies very first kill.
“This one’s all yours, cupcake.” He smiled as she looked up at him gleefully. “Go make your daddy proud.”
And Annabelle did just that, celebrating her sweet 16th as every growing psychotic naturally should, by ecstatically stabbing a dosed up snob who couldn’t do a thing about it other than laugh until she finally bled-out, lost consciousness and died. Annabelle was deeply inspired by her father’s gift to her and thought to leave her mark on her first victim that would be far from her last. She lifted the dead, limp head of the late Mrs. Godfrey and began to carve into her forehead deep enough to leave swaths in her skull. She labeled her kill appropriately, with three capitals letters that were so demented that the police never released the full report for fear of it’s depravity spreading. Even to this day, no one really knows where the acronym their internet generation is oh so found of actually came from.
LOL by z-s0k ;-]
Pic: Anna by Blackpearls
An old yarn I spun for fun a few years back. -z
This is the funniest thing I will ever post in my life, so I thought I would share it here too
and the picture of Morathi because I mean goddamn I cannot wait