E.C.T

Body: *Vague movements*

The vibrant wooden walls begin to crack and splinter. The path leading to an escape is nothing but rubble now, a wide birth opening into the depths of ivory and ember. The pale sconce holds onto its flickering blaze that offers the sight of oncoming fates which lie in the depths. They scream, writhing and squirming with apendages that have rotted and skin that falters to cling to bone, clawed hands which scrape for a grip up the earthly walls. Time is intangible and going back to is impossible.

"Why the hell do we need pants!?"

"I can't believe this"

Me:"WHY THE HELL IS THIS A THING!?"

Traffic cone: Orange boi, guardian of the gravel road, protector of those who travel, CUSTODIAN OF THE CONCRETE, ORGANISATION OF THE VEHICULAR MACHINES OF TRANSPO-

"THAT'S IT!"

If I am to gain a human child, "here comes the sun" by Sheryl Crow from The Bee Movie will play at his birth.