Monday, April 15, 2013

Raper Pauper Reaper

The raper needed some tape and paper to properly write down all his raping sins while the tap outside dripped and then the reaper in his cape tripped and fell down that's what caused him to cough out some pepper all the while he tried miserably to prepare his dinner.
The pauper sat on his lone stool in the lone subway and watched as the hours of the night slowly dragged on. The rats they seemed unperturbed as they scurried beside his stool. Two of them holding in their vile jaws the flesh of a man named Tyron whose decaying bits lay on the tracks all haphazardly. One of the mice was fatter and blacker and seemed to dominate the one following closely behind. The pauper, musing, imagined for 32 minutes mundane conversation about dinner between the two city mice, before falling into a deep slumber, his little finger pierced in his left ear and other fingers bearing the weight of his oversized head and feeling the moist bloody scabs of his 32 days since a wash, an unsanitary gutter water wash at that, scalp.
The reaper in his cape didn't really like his cape. It was too brown for his liking. But it was cold, and he was hungry so thinking about more fashionable shades of brown at this moment in time only made him nauseous not to mention nervous because of how the colour brown had caused his sister's death. Which is an incident for another time.

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