Those who commit murder and throw dead bodies into the Third Mainland Bridge should eat a lot of fish.
As soon as the body reaches the depths of the water, a delicious, fat feast, doesn’t it become the food of fishes?
One fish will eat till she is full, and go about her day. The fish-killer will set a trap to murder her in the early hours of the next day, and she will be taken away. Her children will become orphans, very vulnerable to prey.
The man-killer will come along to buy her from the fish-killer who, whether he knows it or otherwise, is also a fisher of men, a fisher of late men, women, and children.
The man-killer’s wife will set the fish before him, after it has been deliciously cooked, along with some lobsters and crabs, and of course,
since he contributed to the fish’s growth,
will he not taste so bloody good?
If you truly love a butterfly, you ought to let her fly. She’ll show you her buttery side if you do. If you open your palm wide enough, she’ll always perch in it if she wants you. Don’t break her wings off because your fears make you want to. If you squeeze her in, you would either weaken her or make her cry, or make her die, and at any chance she gets to be free, she’ll fly far away and never come back again.
Look at the ocean, the sun, the sky, the sea. They all look so gorgeous, so deep, so spiritual, but so meaningless. The universe is full of possibilities, so much to explore, so much to experience, so much to feel, but it all just has one doomed end- death. What then is the point to be good?
I am not a good boy anymore, Dave. Stop bothering me, shallow hooman.
He drew closer, and immediately, she knew who he was.
“My knight! Does he have the shining armour? Yes, he does!”, she exclaimed.
She waited till he stopped the white horse, ran to him, embraced him and kissed him.
“Take the armour off and give the sword to me. Let’s go into the house.”
He took the armour off and gave it to her, as well as the sword. She let him go into the house first, made him sit, told him she had to go make him a meal, went outside the house, put the armour on, held on to the sword, went to the horse, kissed her head, sat on her back, and rode on her into the sunset, giggling.
…and she let out a mild giggle as she looked out the window [it’s true, the one on the other side of the train, smartass 😂]. Yes! It was finally happening.
She breathed the air in slowly, and although it was not as fresh as she had dreamt it would be, it was not that bad, plus it did not smell like hooman’s sweaty and dirty body, and his musty clothes.
“A bitch has no collar. A bitch has no owner. A bitch has no name. A bitch’s not the same. A bitch needs no bone. A bitch is, at last, on her own”, she muttered, before closing her eyes.
She thought about going to doggo- the stupid good boy’s house, kissing his butt and licking his ears, then lying down, with her back on the ground, and as soon as he came closer, releasing hot urine into his face. She giggled again.