In the Acacacacacacacaca most people die before they can say there first word. Everyone here looks like biscuits. Except for here the biscuits eat you, but you are a biscuit, too. But don't assume that all of us are yummy flaky biscuits. Some of us a raw undercooked biscuits that grew up without love being put into their recipe book. (I barely started writing my recipe book, because all they taught us about biscuit recipes in school is that we should always have love in our recipe book. So mine has love written down as every ingredient. Supposedly there are seventy-nine ingredients in biscuits.)
The ground here is made out of rock. There isn't any grass to munch on. So that is why we eat biscuits. Biscuits taste a lot better than rock. The big dome above us is really yummy. It is made of the blood of all the dead biscuits. That is what we drink. I bet you now realize why a lot of us don't get old enough to speak. But I am the toughest biscuit around and I eat all the biscuits. Even the ones who haven't learned to put love in their recipe book. I can roll, and roll until my opponent is begging for mercy. Then, that is when I eat their flaky goodness.
The End
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Creative Writing to Laugh at
RandomThis is a bunch of short stories that I had to do for my creative writing questions on different subjects. The name of the chapter is the subject I had to do. All of them are stupid.
