One-Eyed

"Rarely, am I bothered, by the smell of rot." The one-eyed man said.

Standing there. Standing. He was standing there. In that room, which was in need of more light, the flying insects all agreed.

With only one wing, unable to fly, and tormented by the others, Mothra looked to the desert below him for dessert. In a gloomy tone Mothra cried alone, "I do not agree. Tee hee.. Ooohhh."

I will never write this nonsense again." The wall said; well, not actually the wall-- but the drywall, the lack of paint where a picture frame had once been.

"Little buggeths speak naught." The one eye man said, his right eye moving to and fro with the line of white behind, him. He had stomped his pointy foot as he said it, a foot-pointer but not a point-flaunter, a limb-stomper but not of any specific latitude and longitude, or inclination of will, or targeting system.

Mothra was so angry at the wall for saying what it said, "Okami has a back! OKAMI HAS A BACK!"

"Oh the harsh reality of being single-visioned, the lime-light that never turns lemon, and the blackness of a door the ants below me close and close in."

Mothra envisioned that he was an asexual caterpillar until it was a wingless truism damned to float in the big, small, square cocoon.

His name, the one-eyed man in a twisted vest, made by a corrupt tailor on the outskirts of the burning village: was Benjmark.. Benjmark J. Puffle-Clocktown III + 2. Benjmark J. Puffle-Clocktown III + 2 smelled inconspicuous like marshmellow soap and clean litterbox.

Music did not play, "'"And she told me, that she loved me, and she gave me my money back."'" Benjmark J. Puffle-Clocktown III + 2 did not listen to it. Instead he whispered poetry to his reflection on the paint, "Well my knees are getting better, and the rain is getting wetter, and the cough syrup flows off of me as if it was a drug."

Two of the bugs flying in the air were talking, the more condescending one had an egotistical tone.. "You want to know how I did it?"

"Yeah 'course I do ya dummy." Pie-Flavored Pies stated-asked.

"You want to know how I returned to this?" It was definitely a drunk wasp talking, a bass pad, the tone gave it away as the walls moved in blocks going in and out.. and around, like a three-dimensional puzzle for a pre-teen drinking a Sprite at 9 to never figure out, no morning.

"Pie-Flavored Pies, its not what you think, but your still afraid of my sting. I have and will have been talking in symbols and ciphers, there will be no more excess. Those who see will reign supreme in a synthesized heaven of Antine. Tell no one but the small warrior from The Future."

"As long as it only comes from me." Benjmark replied, seeing himself in the past.. in the paint.. in the wet, dull, grey swash of that one non-dry edge.

And. Just. About. Done. Talking.

"Only digital Datura." Benjmark took his right hand off of his left eye as the door latched shut. "Sometimes. All the time. The end result of the process can be very therapeutic."

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