The Staples of Life

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Recently, I buried a good friend.  It was rough for me.  Why wouldn’t it be?  It’s always hard to say goodbye to someone we love.  It’s hard to come to terms with the loss of a dear friend.  It feels like I’m spiraling down.  Down into slinking darkness.  It’s hard to get up in the morning–to find motivation to move.  I’m filled with sorrow and rage.  Rage aimed towards the monsters that took my dear friend from me–Steely Cool’s Stapler Co.  Those inconceivable bastards!  How could they?  And, I know they did, for I saw them do it.  I watched their stapler come to life and tear into the flesh of my friend.  I watched their steely monster rip he pulsating sinews from his neck.  Did it draw blood?  Of course.  And then it drank the blood.  I watched in terror as the stapler wiggled its parasitic body into the tear duct of my friend, biting through his tissues.  I stood powerless as it bored itself farther into his body, blood pouring from every opening.  Then it came back out to the light–ripping out of my not-yet-dead friend’s viscera.  Then the accursed thing fell over motionless and I was left alone in the room.  Now my friend is gone.

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