Fungoul Stories

The Girl, now fifteen, is ready to finish what the Fabulous Four started. She isn't stopping till everything BL/ind stand for is abolished or the static gets her. The Girl: 15 Val Velocity: 22 Vaya: 19 Vamos: 19 Volume: 24

killjoys, they live a dangerous life, but not every Killjoy is the same there's one that stands out from the rest of them, in fact she's so different that she's got the whole community of killjoys and even the BL/ind talking about her, but they all have different ideas on her. She walks alone and no ones really seen her, only tales have been told dangerous ones, ones that no one can explain. No one knows if she's even real but they keep the stories going, and most believe them and go out to look and find her hoping to be the one to reveal her to the Fab four the ones who started the tales, even though they've only met her shadow, and the light whispers of her voice.

A five year old girl stood before a grave. A wooden cross, fresh dirt, and a single daisy. A soldier, a mother, lies in the ground as her only daughter weeps before her grave. The sweet smell of peppermint is masked by dirt and death, the smell of her mother a distant memory. There is no peppermint anymore. A pistol wrapped in the hands of a twenty nine year old woman, whiskey on her breath and gunpowder in the air. ~ I can never express my hatred for the smell of gunpowder. The putrid aroma of sulphur, the hint of steam, the stench of fire and wounds and blood and death ~ Her hands drip red, blood slips off her fingers, from too many times holding the knife by the blade. She knows nothing but the burning liquor flowing into her veins and blood, nothing but the sun and moon, nothing but how to survive. She feels nothing but the curve of the trigger and recoil. ~ Nobody knows her name, but now, she just uses the one she saw on a grave ~