A less serious story.

My belonging short story:

Once upon a time, e.g. last Monday, a girl got her boobs blown off in a tragic incident. What the incident is, we don't know. However, we can be sure that it is Very Tragic™. 

The boobless girl wandered aimlessly around society, deprived of her squishy little puppies. This is her story.

Oh my, woe is me. I totally feel a lack of belonging within my high school society! I am no longer the most curvaceous one in my social group. I am no longer pursued by boys and girls alike. In fact, all the cool girls in my school laugh at me! Even the uncool girls laugh at me, and that is, like, so not on.  If I had the guts to, I would totally, like, cut myself. 

Oh, cruel world: I no longer feel like a female! It feels like I've been castrated. Except this is worse than being a eunuch, because I've got two (2) parts of my body cut off while a eunuch had one (1).

The space which had been once filled with twin spongy rock melons of tissue and fat is as empty as the gaping void I'm imprisoned in. In other words, very. 

Such are the thoughts running through our heroine's head as she traipsed breastlessly to the shops. On the way, however, a plot device changed her life forever. 

I was interrupted from my aimless wandering by a shrill scream. 

"AHHHHH HELPPP PERVERT!!!11!11"

Like a pack rats scenting the smell of cheese, the passers-by, me included, swiveled around to the source of the scream. And my life changed forever. 

That shrill scream's owner- O, what perfect perfect lovely wonderful puppies she had. Her gigantic shining golden beachballs bedazzled me, sending down shivers of jealously down my beachball-less chest. I've never wanted anything as badly as I did that moment, where my fingers itched to remove those shining suns and reattach them onto myself. 

A young man beside me whispered to his mate- 'Bet they're fake. What a bimbo.'

O, what how could I describe the wave of joy and hope that washed across me in those seconds. In my relief, I hugged him tightly, breastless chest to breastless chest. In that moment, I felt a flickering spark of kinship, ignited by our common bond. 

But he ran away. Oh well.

The epiphany remained, however. The way out of my current bereft state emerged like the sun after a thunderstorm

So our heroine went to the doctors' next morning and got some fake boobs, and lived happily ever after.

THE END.

Just to piss you people off:

(do not own)

the highlight of my day.

when most others are studiously studying and busily busying themselves for their trials, I have been ensnared in the evil clutches of a new vice- Animal Crossing!

It's kinda like a cross between the sims and harvest moon, except all your neighbors are animals and its for little kiddies (mostly) . It's really quite sad, but very addictive. 

And yes, I realize that this is extremely infantile, but this totally made my day. 

AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA

And if you're going wtf right now, the frog (yes. it's a pink frog called Puddles) wanted a catchier greeting, and asked me (the dude) to give her one(the blue bit). Well, it certainly is catchy. 

*goes back to animal crossing studying*

"time...to die"

dispight the tietle, this post is nigh ther ;bout blaid runna nor sewyside. 

==============[

She remembers this dawn. It remained unchanged from 10 years ago. She still can't see the sun past the towering, jagged 'trees' of cement. Warm daylight still scattered by the hazy grey of pollution, sent from a sky of the exact same shade. No breeze dare stir the man-made soup of smoke, dust and grime, save for the displaced air from an unknown figure rushing by to an unknown destination. 

She remembers the tinny dings of bicycle bells, the hoarse calls of street vendors advertising their wares, the sound of dough and eggs sizzling merrily in grease- noises coalescing like messy stitches that form the tapestry of life. 

She finds herself following her nose, the trail of fried spring onions and eggs leading her to a unimpressive metal stall. A time-weathered brown face peeked out from behind a curtain of people, brows furrowed in concentration. He was selling breakfast, she acknowledged briefly, before fumbling in her woolen pockets for coins. Fingers finding nothing but lint and candy wrappers, she cursed loudly. 

Her voice only travelled for a second before getting swallowed by the noises around her. 

 

The smell was deliciously overpowering, thickening the smoky air. Her nostrils feel saturated with it, as her mouth became saturated with saliva. A throbbing pulsed in her skull, pounding with the rhythm of the vendor's hypnotic movement. 

She does not want to walk away. She can not walk away.

The wizened old vendor lifted his head and peered up at her, his face pockmarked with flecks of green. Her body must have unconsciously moved towards the stall, the analytical voice in her mind remarked detachedly. It was drowned out by the smell, the wonderful aroma that she cannot get enough of. Inhaling deeply, she let the wholesome aroma fill her lungs to the brim, spilling out into her entire being. She hungers. 

Nothing seems to exist around her now, the background noises muffled, as if coming from a great distance. She is a void, her entire consciousness bent towards one thing, the one thing she wants more than anything in this godforsaken world. The old man's face is golden brown dough, embedded with fresh spring onions and lightly toasted mushrooms. He seemed to sway and beckon across the counter. 

With a resounding crash, she knocks the flimsy counter to the ground. The stall collapses like a tower of cards. Her hands move up slowly, tearing off a piece of fragrant, golden flesh. Red- brown liquid oozed out like thick tomato sauce. She found it a perfect complement to golden dough as she rolled it around in her mouth, savoring the taste. It melted in her mouth like heavenly ambrosia and she reached for another piece. 

"Two dollar for one pancake, three dollar for two," a heavily accented asian voice cut through her senses like a rusty knife through butter. 

"What?" she croaked

"You cannot pay? Not expensive!" the old vendor complained

Panicking, she rummaged trough her pockets again, but coming up empty. 

"I'm sorry, is there anyway I can repay-" 

Bloodcurdling screams rose up around her, bouncing and echoing inside her already throbbing head. She looked up, horrified. 

The texture of his face had morphed from spongy omelette texture to leathering, wizened skin. What remained of his face was in shreds, blood running down from the torn flesh onto the charred torso below. A bloodshot eye hung loosely from a ruined socket, grey matter oozing sluggishly. 

Bits of burnt omelette littered the filthy sidewalk around her as sirens wailed in the distance. 

If someone can tell me what's lacking in this, I'll be forever grateful.