Friday, January 9, 2015


The wondrous smell of a centipede drifted up from the garden into the little boy's nose, like that of a pie cooling on a window sill. The boy knew he must have this centipede in his fangs immediately, or the pent up need would cause him to murder his whole family and be dubbed "The Damien of Sherrybrook". But it wasn't true, he was no demon seed, just a plump young thing filled with desire, and he would not let his desires cause his family harm. Only the centipede. He vaulted over the windowsill and scurried face first into the garden, snout wiggling and snorting, fire in his eyes, his whole body twisting. To catch the centipede, he would become the centipede.

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