"Can I have some help?" You say, bowing your head in shame.
The two of you stand still for a minute, staring at one another. Then, out of the blue, you run to her window and punch it out. Blood and glass cover your arm as you frantically clear the glass with your flesh.
"I don't you." You say, telling the truth. You really don't know what you're doing and why you weren't given a choice. It's like you're being controlled by some higher, though lazy, power, and that power has run out of ideas.
Once the glass is gone, you wave goodbye to Zoey with your broken hand, and then jump out to the pavement below.
Are we not allowed to be real parents anymore? We may have feared the CyborFreaks, but we damn well respected them and learned about boundaries.
A thousand years ago, dudes were dying from splinters, but now the wizard potion that cleans our light wounds costs less than a Dr. Pepper in 1994. I love this medicinal 7up.
Ron Paul spins in his chair, trying to grab his decorative antique musket but Freddy gets it first.
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