It was a glorious day.
With my own hands and simple clay and paint. Tears on my eyes, and sweat dripping aggressively from my forehead. I glared at my supplies. Those same supplies that caused blisters to form on my rough palms, and made my job miserable. Were layed across from one of my many desks near where I was sitting. Just enough for hand's reach. But I refused to use them, instead I used my bare hands to sculpt and make my experiments. Who needs tools anyways? Just looking at them made me want to stab them into my eyes to clear my sins, but we all know that could not be done. I needed way much more than that for it to happen.
I stared deeply into my beautiful creation. It's round shapes, and pointy but gentle angles. Gently coated in a thin layer of fine bright yellow paint.
Billy the duck.
Hot.
That statement was very concerning. As I created him to be my son, and technically speaking. I WAS his biological mother after all. Even if I was an underage male.
I'm kidding. I don't have a gender. Gender is for the weak.
I stared at his perfectness longer than I'd like to admit. Damn just looking at him made me want to do things that I'd never thought would cross my unhinged mind.
Things like making sure nothing breaks his heart.
Things like hurting whomever hurt him.
Things like wanting to slowly pluck someone's eyeballs and making them suffer if they dare look at him the wrong way.
Things like having the urge to finally feed the starving children in my basement.
Well I wouldn't go that far...
All I knew was that I was his parental figure. And he was my s̶l̶a̶v̶e dear son.
I will make sure that nothing hurts him
YOU ARE READING
The Tragic Tale Of Billy The Duck
HumorAbuse, Rape, Murder. Summerge yourself into the tragic story of Billy the duck. And his gruesome and inevitable death. This is kinda a joke book. It has a serious tone but it does contain some dark humour here and there. I don't take it seriously.
