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31 августа 2009

Dead Puppy
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    The young dog, not knowing its own name, and thereby unaware of its morbid destiny, was digging desperately in the bloodstained sand of Cocaine Beach B.C. It hadn't eaten since its own birth, and the frantic survival instincts made the pain of scratching the skin off its paws transform into pure adrenaline. As its claws ripped up a flesh filled bone, that could bare resemblance of a forearm, the sea rose on the horizon and thunder struck all around the breaking point of a massive wave. The puppy dropped the arm from its frawdaling mouth. It paused and looked up at this huge thing that hovered towards the shore. "What the fuck is that?" the puppy thought using its own language and protecting its marvelous finding by barking some more very naughty words. This thing, shooting along towards the puppy, had trouble written all over it, because something this ugly could never be out in good errands. Fast and without pain for our little friend, the wheel of a unicycle split his belly in two and squeezed what little life left in him out and further on...The unicycle, ridden by a clown so foul that he could make a two month old corps look good in comparison, grabbed the bloody arm. This was his bloody forearm, the bloody arm in which he always uses as bait for naive little puppies. The young dog was washed out at sea as the wave finally broke and pulled back...the dead puppy has never been seen since...until now...
    Aleksander Tveitnes    31 августа 2009 09:13