kokorocala

The rave raged on, the breaking the sound barrier, police were trying to kick down the metal sealed door, the music was still dropping the bass hard and ready, people dancing and waving their hair and glow sticks like they weren't even human anymore. women flashed their underwear, men break danced like they were dying fish with an electric shock. and the DJ had finally done what he had planned to do so that night. The endless screeches and pounding of his mixes ended up hypnotizing the whole crowd, and now everything was on the same level. the same ear-exploding and eye-wondering sights that a person has only secluded in the subconscious, an

He slid down the flying buttress of the collapsing cathedral, escaping his monstrous pursuer, and eight armed mass of pure muscle and blood spurting from it's jaws, the blood of holy men and women that could not escape the grand church in time. The man with the paper mask was wearing a black sweatshirt and jeans, not the most outstanding outfit for a hero, but hero nonetheless. he reached the end of the buttress, the monster pursuing him nonstop, but then he reached into his backpack, pulling out a sharpened metal pole. he sprinted, jumped, flipped midair, and gave the monster a gruesome stab to the head, the body going limp, but one of it's

pillows burn easily. so does paper. maybe i'll burn my puke-covered pillow. i could burn a plastic bag. we're out of ready logs. and i forgot how to kindle fire wood. crap.