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Shida
Delicate as FUCK
The fact that this farse is still going on, quite frankly, is unbelievable. Big type-writer bitch in the sky doesn't even have the decency to kill me off quickly. Oh no, life has to come first; but let's be clear. It's her life, not mine. Mine just gets shoved to the bottom of her to-do list, below cleaning the floors, I might add. Which is just fucking insulting.
Hear that? FUCK YOU.
I hope this defaults. I hope this defaults and you get fucking nothing. In fact, I hope this defaults, I request partial judging and win. Can you imagine? But I couldn't do that to the team. No one event wants to read this garbage for fun, much less because they're obligated to. So I'll just die. It should only take another roll, after all.
"You don't know as much as you think you do." I spit, feeling nauseous and woozy and wishing that I had decided to let Reginald fuck me to death rather than go out this way. Could I pause this for one last bong hit? Fuck, why wasn't I high for this? "Life can be done with me, because I don't control it. I am controlled. That's the kicker, Little Red Riding Hood." Princess whines uneasily, catching snippets of the wolf metaphor running around in my brain.
I look towards him, wanting to say something about being sorry that this was happening to us, when the ground below us suddenly bucked and heaved. I stumble, because fucking of course I did, legs bending in all the wrong directions. I can feel my knees locking and then being thrust forward, joints collapsing and my balance completely going tits up. I hit the ground, but it doesn't hurt that much. It's that reflex that drunks and kids have, you know the one. Where you go all limp and so you don't actually hurt yourself as bad as you ought to. Comically, I just keel the fuck over, then I'm sorry I wanted to say to Princess still on my slightly open lips.
I can feel the queasy feeling of sadness mixed with inevitability radiating down from old sky bitch as she types. "Fuck you," I warble, spitting a stream of blood. Apparently I'd bitten my lip. Her sadness fades as typos are slowly corrected, and I want to scream that she isn't doing enough. This isn't written well enough and that I fucking deserve more. But we both know it's no use. We both know I"m right, and most importantly, we both know that doesn't change things.
"YOU DON'T GET TO BE SORRY." I scream at the sky, my head lolling upwards for a second, my baby blue stare drunkenly glaring at the clouds, before falling onto Isopia.
"Fuck you for being more important. You're boring now." My words come out as a slur. Do I have internal bleeding by now? I can't tell. It's hard to think straight. "Half these bitches don't even like you. Don't kid yourself by saying they're jealous. You're just a cunt who thinks she isn't a trope." I spit again and think about getting to my feet. That seems like a lot of effort, but hell, it isn't like I need to save my energy for something. Heaving myself up, I glower towards Isopia. "Fuck you, fuck your cape, and fuck your 2 VP." I spit, as I try to send an explosion rocketing not into the ground, but fucking into her. I've never tested this out before, but no fucking time like the present.
Maybe I'll get a critical and go out with a laugh.
Attack: 5
WC: 605
Setting: The Thistle Meadow.
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The 4th wall comes tumbling down
