Entering my home, I begin the fortifications and lock up the doors and board the windows. I find a box of nails and pieces of wood scattered about my house for whatever reason and blockade everything, keeping the horrible personified thoughts out. Of course, that doesn’t do me much good, as the pieces of wood that were, for whatever reason, around the house on my floor were flimsy and easily breakable. So the thoughts broke through and tore into me. They busted down my door and broke through the boarded up windows. Shards of broken glass and fragments of wood flew throughout the room and I sort of just stood there and thought, “Man, I have to clean all this shit up,” but I really didn’t want to have to clean all that shit up. As a last resort, I pulled out my .45 and shot randomly at the flung open doors and broken windows. I felt like fucking R. Kelly, but the bullets casually passed through the thoughts and they arrived in, so I set up a little tea party table and got some crumpets out and we all pleasantly discussed my current mental state.
One of my thoughts was clearly mentally retarded, as it defecated in its pants rather frequently and laughed each time. Soon, my living room smelled like retarded man-child feces and I was forced to bring out the Febreze. Another one of my thoughts kept passionately kissing another thought. As the party escalated and the conversation grew more personal, said thought went down on the other thought. I told them, very politely, to keep it in their pants, but they just gave me a look and kept going at it. The thought sitting across from me kept saying that he needed to type up a report or else that prick Juarez was going to ride up inside of his ass or something. My thoughts were pretty erratic and I could hardly keep up with any of them. The thought sitting next to me told me that I was probably suffering from sleep deprivation, but I calmly told them to fuck themselves and they shut up, pouting a bit. Another one of my thoughts started getting physical with the thought next to it. It began to punch the other thought violently until that thought turned a strange color. After that strange colored thought stopped moving, the thought that had initiated the brawl began eating it like an animal. Nobody said anything, though. We just made more small talk as one thought consumed another. Then the thought got kuru and died. One thought desperately wanted to go outside and smoke a cigarette, but then it started impulsively scratching itself until its fingernails skinned off all of its flesh and it bled out on my carpet. The thought sitting to my left poured the hot tea into its eye and bashed its head onto the table repeatedly, until it was bruised and dented like a deflated soccer ball and it fell over onto my lap. I sort of just brushed it off and offered the thought to my right some more tea.
A thought sitting next to the thought that had just bashed its head in was taking several pills with its tea. Ritalin and Xanax were the drugs, I believe. It took one too many, however, and began convulsing furiously on the ground as spit and saliva soaked those around it. It stopped, eventually, and we all just went about our business. The crumpet that I was eating became stale. I set it down and didn’t pick it back up for a while, but I wasn’t really hungry anymore anyway, so I gave it to the thought that kept shitting itself and it seemed content with that. All of a sudden, a sinking feeling welled up inside of me so I reached for the tea and I noticed that the thought to my right was hanging from the ceiling. I didn’t see it happen, so it sort of took me by surprise, but I should have seen it coming I guess. The thought that had gone down on the other thought began using its teeth, and it eventually tore off the genitals of the thought it was pleasuring. That thought began wailing horribly and cried before falling over, dead. The thought, with that thought’s genitals still between its teeth, began swallowing the phallus and choked on it and died.
Now it was just me and the thought that couldn’t stop releasing its bowels. The two of us sat there in silence, as all of my other thoughts were gone and my brain felt numb and dead. My head became empty and dizzy and I felt woozy. I sighed, and walked over to the fecal-spewing shell of a thought, being careful not to step on the carcasses of the other thoughts. However, I didn’t really need to be careful, as the bodies had disappeared. I sat down next to the last thought and put my hand on its shoulder. Then I said, “Do you think that if I cooked a dog it would taste good? I know that those Koreans like to eat dog, but I’ve never tried it. Do you think I should?” It sort of stared at me and we sat there for a while without saying anything. I could smell the brown, liquid turd in its pants and it formed a little puddle around it and leaked through its garments. Finally, it spoke up and said, “Personally, I prefer cats and human female bosoms, cooked to perfection. Sometimes, having the nipples of human female’s fried can also taste rather pleasurable if done for a long enough time.” I nodded and thanked it. Then, I pulled out the .45 and scattered its brains all over the table. I was truly surprised that it worked.
My thoughts were dead, but my brain was still working I think. But, maybe it wasn’t. I wasn’t really sure. So I stopped thinking about it and my thoughts stopped. Because they were dead. By the way, did you know that people die when they’re killed?
© Copyright 2016 UN Owen. All rights reserved.
Book / Other
Short Story / Horror
Short Story / Humor
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