Rock Bottom

...

I believe my sanity has returned. And by no means do I state that in a positive way. "The day I'm sane is the day I die" I always said. A close friend and I had the exact conversation that if either of us were to loose the madness in our minds we would run. Far. And never comeback. However quite recently I've found that my mannerisms have been basic, mundane even. I just cannot allow that. My entire being is based on my twisted nature and my adamancy on not conforming to society's normality.

Which brings me to my current state, hauling a large stone into my bedroom. Everyone who asked, is now under the interpretation I sought for an archeological curiosity. Which in my defence isn't entirely wrong, it's just a pure evasion of the truth. I set the stone down adjacent to my bed. Should I clean it? No, a sane person would clean it. And I am far from. A sane person would never decide to fuck a rock. And that is precisely what I plan to do.

I spitefully pulled my bed stand drawer open and grabbed a bottle pineapple lube. Now, how to go about doing this? Combing my fringe from my eyes I paced around the stone. I flipped the lube in my hands and squirted a small amount onto my hands rubbing them together. Reaching lower I- I forgot to take my pants off. Fuck. I plop on the ground massaging my temples with my hand. "How hard can this actually be?" I brush my hand up through my hair examining the rock further.

My hand drops in horror as my eyes widen. Realising what might just be my end. I jump up in panic, trying to find what I desperately sought. "No, no, no, no, no!" I turned the stone over and over trying to find it. I slump in defeat.

There's.. there's no hole...