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Suckling

She had no idea what she had done, what she had unleashed, what she suffocated in him at that very moment. All the humanity vested upon him by his creator all drifted away by the sheer force of her blabbering, the slightest provocation of her gentle nature dissipated in thin air as was his. To her he was orange, to him she was apple. When the clock struck ten the sudden hostility became apparently clear, that he was to be what the deities intended him to be. His purposelessness now clear of suspicion, his mind forlorn. What audacity. It this was charisma reeking out of her bosom, I'd like to see her spread the legs for a more vile alternative. Devastated by the results of the conversations, he began thinking of a harsher consequence, mocking and offending him at a position of his vulnerability, clawing her thin nails into a cemented hole of absurdity. He grows ultimately sick of the constant depravity, the inoperable conflicts, and blame games, get right on to the ultraviolence.

He plotted and plotted, and as far as he knows, his limitations are quite high. He was well aware that he could never pursue any sort of unholy vengeance upon those that wronged him the most. His involvement of the things that surrounded him grew thinner and his hate kindled into a ball of many things wrong. His aim was certain, crush the infidel as she crushed his spirit. An eye for eye, one would put it. To the test nothing made absolute sense. It paid to see the arrogance suffer, so as they could witness their own destruction right before the moment they clinch their last breath. Those who wielded iron will would perhaps handle a more delicate situation in a different light. His will was of silk, featherweight and poetic.

There he had not a single word to utter, left defended by an odorous being with a foul stench of another being, downplaying the negativity aimed towards her by the crowd. Nothing to be pleased about or commended, they both struggle the same maltreatment on a different scale. Her frustrations were more apparent and thus widely criticised and mocked. To them she was but an accessory to their discontentment, a scapegoat to a crime she had not been subjected as of yet, an auxiliary character to a nonexistent plot and expendable as much as the next blameless creature that feigns interest to the whole situation, only trying to avoid confrontations which do not seemingly end in productive terms. Her bones were fragile, he noticed, thinking of all the potential harm he could possibly inflict to her someday. If given the chance her bones would be made soup in a big pot of human bulalo. The wide-eyed disgust stared down into him, pulling away his strength and his reasoning, left him speechless and bored to tears, undermining his authority over the space and hers. She fought back passively by besieging his every suggestion retorting to equally passive-aggressive personal attacks. She was to him devil incarnate.

He cursed her for the rest of the days to come, he wished her spawn to be as dark as her human essence, her belly speaking for itself as does her heart and brain and by that it wishes to be shortened of its life as it does when it catches ulcer. His eyes continually bored him ultimately until blood gushed forth from the pupils. They coloured the table red exhibiting all the pent-up rage held inside him for so long. This was not the moment to fall victim to deaf ears, ranges of her inactivity reaching an all-time low, her flexibility waning.

He was gung ho, she was gung whore.

And so the whole point of the debacle was to see which one gives in to which. Rhetorically none would give in even at the cost of life. The preplanned method was to resemble the other using a technology dating farther back than one would imagine. It clouded both their judgment and senses. To see them in such manner would make an old general's country blush out red vomit in embarrassment.  Her whole dilemma between him and her lovely play would no longer be contested. Good for her. She got what she set out to do, alienate the aliens and prove her mettle. She had everything, he was struggling, she had the charisma, all he had was pen and paper.

Of all the faux intellectual, she seemed the least likely to improve. Her diplomatic skills were deplorable and offensive, fits perfectly right in with the Opinionated Whores' Club. Population: One.

All the gastric passers-by did little to intervene. He was to fend for himself as she denounces that none shall hold title of babysitter within the community.

Sitting babies are quite easy in all honesty. Position the baby in a vertical position, form a ninety-degree angle from the point of pelvis and lay the baby's buttocks on a solid plane and there you go.

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