Burn That in the Fire

When I was a young man I met an older man, and he said to me, he said, "You.  Are much younger than I."

And I said, "So, Fuck you."

He was upset; his mouth hung limp like a farm mother's bosom and his eyes were tight like lead pellet. 

I didn't mind.  He couldn't bother me.  I am the ruthlifer.  I am Ruthlifer. 

I continued to walk.  The path was dark and covered in maggots, worms, and golden roses.  Overhead, a plant that can only be explained as a wet, putrid, strangled and sopping Weeping Willow fluttered continuously across my face and the nape of my neck.  I chopped it down, but my younger brother died.  I am too young to have children.

I burned the putrid pestilence that had disguised itself in a biological camouflage, and I buried my brother in a crudely constructed casket of pine and legacy. 

I was alone then.  But it did not matter.  I would soon arrive at the end of my journey. 

When I did arrive, I was surprised at what I had found.  It was only a wooden chest - about the size of my great-grandmother's hope chest - but inside there was treasure... amongst other things.  Beneath the putrid mess, we unearthed a goldmine of antique frankincense, gold, and myrrh.
Uploaded 10/23/2010
  • 0 Favorites
  • Flag
  • Stumble
  • Pin It