butter fingers

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
An enchantting tale of horror and gluttonous fancies.

Submitted: August 09, 2016

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Submitted: August 08, 2016

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Father it's awfully hot today, could we go home?
Sure daughter beloved, but did you forget why we made the visit on a day such as this?
No father I haven't, it just saddens me too know mother is gone, though she begins to ferment before us.
If it pains you so daughter beloved we can depart now, but would you really want your mother too wither and rot in your place of dreams and whimsy?
I suppose I wouldn't father, I just miss her so.
 Grief falls short of understanding my daughter, so let us allow your mother to rest she has suffered less or more, woes can't attach themselves without that passion. 
Alright father I understand.
Good, now let us proceed with the passing so we may rest easy with this evenings storms.
Yes my father.
Daughter beloved before I tuck you in at nights moon I must confess my last breath draws closer and with that comes not so great responsibility, and a quiet but less than subtle dignity.
Father please don’t talk like that, something so terrible before I drift into a hushed calm, how could you, especially with mother nowhere near to comfort my unsettled thoughts. 
Daughter beloved my heart has gone time and time again, I want the last impression too be left with you, your mothers pain came and went with the trifecta that was seen by ignorant eyes and blissful elucidation. The day in question will come to pass daughter beloved, sooner has judged with ulterior lust. It will be seen by my eyes only. Grief falls short of understanding, I ask that you do one thing and one thing alone for me my daughter, sever my jaded grasp and place them in this box made of garish décor.
But father I couldn’t cause you so much pain, why ask me to be morbid instead of rightfully distant?
Please my beloved don’t act against my final wish. Tawdry it may seem but oaths of old winters yesterday will calm nothing but the voices on the lower prairies.
I will father, choice has never made it’s way in to shift the balance, mother made deals and lost more than her way each time.
I love you beloved, and good evening.
The day has arrived, father has treaded deeper into an existence that pales in comparison to how mother lived, no fate past what we suffered is good enough for him. I’ve waited for so long to see this day, how quaint that I can only think of my new found jolly when today should be darker. Foolish optimism of a dying woe to think I would carry out anything you wished. Washing my hands of these affairs is what matters most, and wanting me to mutilate a horrid creature such as this would do the deeds of an accolade rather savor the shanties of a vermillion mist. As for this box, what of this box? Made of garish décor less I could care and less I will care. To the wastes with it instead I will place his grip in this jar once used for storing of groundnuts, a safer place there could not be a colder place I my eyes won’t see. Once the burial leaves my mind so will my body and memories of the patriarch that could not, farewell tyrant that holds my heart, farewell tyrant that stole mother’s. 
It has been a score and a half, life now supersedes with the intensities of fluent coition with my dearest beau, hearts have now healed thanks to the fleeing despair that haunted twice before. But I shan’t speak of it, to my lover’s sweltering embrace I go. Oh no, what has be fallen his body? Who could possibly take their rage out on the home of my heart? Gruesome foresight I shouldn’t have ignored, I can’t even recognize his face. These deep lacerations are proof enough that this act was not made in childish jest. Who? I demand to know who, why is no longer a question I can entertain. This form of partisan justice isn’t what I deserve. Not what my beau deserved. Show yourself at once, I know you to still be in my midst! Cast aside your cowardice and face me! I’ll do worse to you, I’ll show no remorse and may the most beautiful of angels dine with your festering soul. Hmm? Could it be? Have you really decided to take refuge in the highest point of my home? Very well then, I can’t be held captive by my pacifistic side. The torturous deeds must be done, not for me but in the handle of my cadaverous lay. It can not be, how did this person escape? There’s no sign of exit or entry. And nothing seems to be missing, surely I haven’t lost my ashen attachment. I need to sit, I feel ill. I know I heard someone in my home. My beau is dead! The accused is I, just can see her, I can’t see him! I still feel ill, my sickness seems to be worsening. Oh dear, oh no…why this eve’s of all evenings! I feel an awful draft, my body is chilled to the bone. No! the lights! Where have the lights gone? Who ever you may or may not be why have you chosen to do this to me on this night’s eve? Answer me! Please.. this murkiness I can’t stand this murkiness. Hmm, that light in the corner, could it be my jaded pursuer? Impossible, that damned box made of such garish décor, I saw to it that it was destroyed along with that father’s numbers. Wait, I hear you, show yourself to me! Please if you won’t return the lights tell me this, why have you chosen to crucify my beau, why have you chosen to return this damned box made of garish décor? Talk to me damn you! Greif falls short of understanding. I know that voice, but I refuse to believe this is true. I can’t even see you, the twilight is playing tricks on mind. You were warned, you refused, now you have doomed that which was once unstained. What do you want? I’ve done nothing to deserve this! Only your feminine derma. I do not understand. Wait, stop! Please don’t, unhand me at once! Your touch is as bitter as a winter chill! Please it hurts, let me go! This debt can only be repaid in solemn agony. I.. I’m sorry! Huh? It was only a dream? But it couldn’t have been more real to me. My beau? Where is he? Dearest, where? Oh, he’s in our garden. Silly to think such a horrible dream could be real, I shall go to my beau and tell him I love him at once. I’ll look over my first blush in the mirror and make haste to his masculine graze. This can’t be.. what has happened to my fair derma? I look as if I’ve been mangled by a vicious mongrel. This macabre vision has to be a dream it must be a dream. This ivory rolls off my bones like the tears once rolled of my face. It was a dream, was it not? Not a again! That damned box made of garish décor! Why do you insist on haunting me? I saw to it that you were abolished! Please, leave me be. A toll must be paid, greed and vanity will lay in place of your blissful undoing. Garish as it seems this shall be your prison, eternity and love do not exist here. Grief falls short of understanding, dine in lightless affliction.  

 

 

 

 


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