My crazy short story

[404NotFound]

The Victimless Crime

The sky is pulling away from me, Chicken Little. The table has been
pulled out from under me. I got a little tipsy, so it seems, and finally took the plunge. So
it begins.
Let me take it from the top. I live in a world among men. Hundreds of twins, close
copies, of myself have been made. I am taken for granted, that lowly civil servant. Boring
and repetitive, it is, this juggling of hots and colds from pot to mouth, from fridge to face,
I am the middle man.
"Pay taxes and die." I scoff at thee. Constants only apply in your human world,
but handled pottery has but one mantra of life, as this inanimate bore were, to hold stuff
and break.
The former is now a dying memory, the latter is now here. You see, in the ironic
wisdom of my creator, I was given a useful skill, heat is no enemy, and cold is a joke, but
the impact of a fall from a meter's drop is a fatal mistake. Sure, superglue and love may
make me serviceable, but the foolish humans have only repaired a shell, and imbibe from
a corpse.
You wouldn't drink from the once cracked skull of your son now, would you?
I've been down this road once before. Oh, how stout and clean I was then!
Tarnished I am, of the hardest of drugs, Coke, Red Bull, and intense Columbian brew.
Digression apparent.
I was caught, back then, while'st in the icy grips of death. A hand, with exuberant
speed, swooped down to save me. After various fumbles I was saved, but my lifeblood
spilled to the raging and ravenous tiles below.
This fat Earth has no mercy in its universal gravitation; I'm turning and twisting,
spilling with fear.
Life doesn't flash and slow at a torrid 9.8 meters per second per second, but
perception races, speeds to a halt. It grasps and grabs, grips and grapples at mirages and
beckons the next sample of dying life.
It's taunting me now. The sight of it is too much to bear. The lens of life is
zooming in slowly on that newly waxed surface, mocking me. It's laughing at me, calling
me, pulling me in. Helplessness and panic sets in as mere inches separate this hollowed
cylinder from a plywood backed plastic repetitive pattern of flowers. More, and more,
and more.
Ever closer, ever closer, it seems, as I see no salvation in sight. The only chance I
have is with the recently noticed grinning idiot above me. He is watching closely, and
with glee, as I further my swan dive to the other side of life. The death knoll will outlive
me. Rigor and vigor, twisting as one, masses of the fluid state ease from mind. Dated tile
meets the outer rim, I'm decelerating to a jolted stop. Fragments reside, failure
presides, and another stamp of victory is pressed on gravity's law. The liquid no longer
has a home.

"Control over anything is the sweetest part of life" He thought one day while
sitting at the table, eyeing that old green cup. "Whoops!" he said with a sarcastic tone as
he knocked the logo imprinted charm of his college days to the ground.
Down..
and down..
and down..
Smash. The sweet sound of a new found addiction.
Another bygone relic, a worn lime green birthed of a groovy yore of the
palindrome, sees a dying splash before succumbing to the obvious crowd favorite. Vegas
never gives good odds on a Teacup, they always did say.
It was then time to clean and dry the shards of a long day's torture into a bin.
"They'll be shipped away to a better place" he said, holding back a laugh.
Morals of society change and bend and fold, turning out of control, but I
guarantee that in all the lands of all the world that no one will ever convict the Sadist of
the Teacup.
Drip drop, drip drop, pleas of mercy have no effect. Fling.

[Neopunk]

damn that was short

[404NotFound]

Hey, it's a SHORT story.