"THANK YOU MOMMY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH"
You screech in your ungodly high pitched tone as you violently hugged your over worked cheating whore of a mother. This reaction was imposed by your mother telling you she has just signed you up to have your party hosted at "PAUL PAULSONS PIZZARIA FUNHOUSE AND BALLPIT" a establishment that causes so much excitement in you that you cannot contain it.
OH MY GOD THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU
You yell to her. Now, the actual party is not for a couple of weeks, but you're excited all the same. Mainly because you could be seen as the "cool" kid for having his birthday at "a place so ballsy that it's in the title"
After she has told you the news, you literally run to tell your father where your seventh birthday will be at a place that excited you so much.
"DADDY IM HAVING MY PARTY AT PAUL PAULSONS"
Your father looks up from his news paper, and eyebrow raised.
"Is that so?"
The father looks to his wife.
She nods.
The father gives you a smile.
"Well I hope you're excited"
THREE WEEKS LATER
Your whole body is shaking with excitement. You have just had six peaces of cake. You're about to be released to the ballpit. The all loving vagina on a whore sugar to a diabetic food to an Ethiopian. Yeah, it's that great.
A very tired, annoyed worker of the establishment that under pays him said:
Alright, remember to keep your hands to yourself, and make sure to keep all the balls in the pit.
You may go.
You are free. After you left hooked the employee in the genitals, (just for speed) you full on sprinted to the pit. After some very short-legged sprinting, the pit is in sight. You feel the wind of the other tiny bastards at your side, as a pack. A pack of sugar fueled snot nosed bastard children. All rushing to a meaningless goal. Not knowing what lies before them.
Speed of lightning you go, with the roaring of prepubescent thunder. Taking form, gracefulness of a ballerina and ferocity of a starved dog, child you leaps gracefully into a gorgeous field of pure color and euphoria.
With a flying superhero pose you soar with a godly might. Un affected to the un important world around you. In hearing to the cries and screams filling the space and world around you.
With the grace of a swan more baked than a potatoe, landing is achieved most gracefully by you and you alone. That's when horror and disgust fill you to the brim. Your bones and soul in most distress. You realize, Thea are not plastic orbs of happiness. But painted tomatoes. You immediately sink down into the mass.
The screams of other victims recalling dawning apon you.
Tomatoes fill your mouth and lungs crushing the life and breath out of you.
Your bones crack in tortured slow.
Your eyes being smashed to pulp in their sockets, sharing that space with terror tomatoes.
You are dying.
Tomatoes full your world.
Your life drains like tomatoe juice down a drain.
Goodbye world
