I remember that Big Toto was a singer; he could sing his ass off and the earth would listen to him, prodded by the brazen tones that would erupt from his lips. I remember how beautiful his singing had been, too—and I couldn’t think too hard about it, cuz even then his songs used to bring me to secret tears sometimes and just thinking about them now was likely to cause me to start full-on bawling for one reason or another. But anyway that’s not the point. I was saying that if Toto was a singer, then I guess that made this new earth child just as talented as a dancer in the same vein, cuz I swear she was working this last damn nerve like her life depended on it.

Like, fuck. This fate shit was really just trying to get me to make her catch these hands hooves, I swear for god. And she just…she kept…talking. Just talking. About shit that didn’t even matter, that wouldn’t matter, that might matter but probably wouldn’t so what was the point in even…talking about it?

This bitch hadn’t shut up since I first laid eyes on her up on the surface. Her voice has just been hanging in the air this entire time, talking, talking talking about stupid shit, weaving a thread around my throat and trying its damnedest to choke the piss out of me. My body was swelling with hot air and I swear my seams were gonna burst—and if fur worked a certain way my cheeks and my neck and my everything would probably bloom a bright red at the growing heat that was expanding in my body, an aching fit to burst.

“My god, will you shut up?” I finally exploded—except it wasn’t an explosion, it was more like a tired leak that eased the mounting pressure in my body—a direct effect of this obstinate decision I had made that I wasn’t gonna throw the first punch.

And I’m not sure of the exact moment I had made that decision; I just knew that I had come here to bury a piece of my past and fate decided that this little fuckscapade would put a nice little marker on the grave, and once I had made the decision to keep my hooves to myself, it bound me like, iron, whether I liked it or not.

…

…cuz no, seriously, I was sure fixin’ to pop this bitch in the mouth if it meant she shut up.

(You laughed at that).

I didn’t have lofty wings or a swishing tail to help me sweep up those pieces; I just grit my teeth and scraped at the ground with my hooves, piling them into a glittering mound as I went. It immediately became shitty and I was bored with it almost instantly and you swooped down from my poll, landing onto the ground and zpsnck!ing into a bushy-tailed skunk. No, Cheek--I tried stopping you, cuz this was my toil and my mess—but you ignored me like the little shit you were and your tail swept over the pieces, doing a much better job than my hooves ever could.



"talk"

Quit Hollerin' "Why God?", he ain't got shit to do with it.