#writings:

“gentlemen. what we’re dealing with here, is no man, but a monster. so tell me why is it that we’ve completely lost trace of the femme genocider ?”

a man with a head shinier than the marble table slams his palms down furiously towards the respective suited-government goons that sat along the rim. they were nervous, tension was high, and someone probably farted. yet no one had the balls to answer this man.

“s-sir,” someone foolishly speaks, “if i may, the case in regards to the serial killer might as well be considered inactive. isn’t it enough that their killings have stopped all together? can’t we just leave it at that? because there’s... no way of finding him...” a swarm of papers rush into the speaker’s timid face. he had officially lost all speaking rights, because now was not the time to decide something as trivial as the case’s status. not when lives were still at risk, and that the killer was at large.

“within the last two months alone, 57 homicides have been reported, all female...” there was a stutter in his words, his composure was crumbling, and finally:

“... he took my fucking wife, guys.”

no one dared to speak, it was quite clear what they needed to do, but for now, there was no telling where the femme genocider might be and what he might be doing. for all they knew, it was definitely nothing good.

“um… what was that? relevant skills?” “that would be correct, yes.”

maybe it wasn’t a good idea to wear a full-on business suit that wasn’t even his-but borrowed from his dad- to a fucking job interview at wacdonalds, but god dAMNIT, ten was in need of a job and he’d do almost anything to get it. ten’s streak of bad luck was finally going to break: is what he wanted to believe.

“well. let’s see.” a few hairs stick out at the center of his head. it was uncomfortably hot, he’s practically sweating, but the interviewer doesn’t notice- or at least, he doesn’t seem to. smiling crookedly only deepens the awkward mess that ten really is. he just wants this to be over, but to do that, he has to speak. but- how? use your bullshit powers, kid!

“one time, i drop kicked this guy mid air. he tried to steal my backpack,” because he had porn, “b-because I had these books that needed reading, for an upcoming test the next day. then he tried to grab me, but I stepped on his face and cracked his spine with my hand. s-so after I put him down, the police came-”

“holy shit.” “.. so, then I-” “no, dude. you’re hired.”

...wait what.

“wait- ...what?” “yeah, we could totally use the extra man-power here to beef up the place. you’ve got the job!”

...man-power?

and so ten was hired, but not for his work ethics, but for his ability to kick ass. he had yet to understand how that would be applicable to his job, but when it comes to capitalism, nothing really matters. while being a wacdonalds staff wasn’t something to really show off, ten was still making hella cash. well. to some extent. three weeks after employment and he already burned his fingers in the fryer at least 12 times a day, slipped over wet signs every chance he got, and when it came to burger assembly, he places the buns inside the burger. normally, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but now that ten is crumbling under the pressure of the working class and having adulthood shoved up his ass just to fuck him over, he had yet to understand just why in the world he was working here.

untill...

ft. @grimgott

he wore his work uniform to graduation day. but over that, he wore his class vest so it’s all good. no one noticed, though in pictures, you could see a bit of red peek out from beneath his get-up. his smiles were crooked, and his hair was a little messy. he nearly trips on the walk to get his diploma. luckily his parents were easy to spot in the bleachers. you couldn’t missed the way they waved wildly with banners screaming “YOU DID IT CHITTA-PHON! ★”. it was embarrassing. he’d wish they’d stop.

chittaphon, i didn’t think you’d make it this far! thanks for believing in him, mom... son. you didn’t fuck up. and that’s what matters. dad always knew exactly what to say to, too...

“hello. i’m ten and this is jackasss,” the lack of enthusiasm makes it even harder to take him seriously. ten says to the handheld camera after a month or two since high school. he’s standing upright in a discarded shopping cart, padded with safety gear and several pillows duct taped to his body. This was his way of celebrating the completion of yet another school year. actually it originated as a dare from a former classmate saying that he’d pay ten to hurl over a steep-ass hill in the neighborhood next door. it was a subtle way of saying that he wanted ten to die. whether he meant it maliciously or jokingly, the boy didn’t know, but he went for it anyways. every year. every...fucking year.

“this is for, erm, nam who wanted me to document my near-death experience without actually being here. for precaution measures,” the camera swoops down to his general torso area, “i’ve duct taped, like, three pillows to myself, and tied a rope from this cart to uh, some tree.” he doubts that it would hold, though. “so anyways. If i die, mom and dad, i love you. also burn the shoe box under my bed.” because there’s porn inside.

Not sparing another second, ten hunches over the cart to remove the brick that held the cart still and faces the lenses forward as he began to roll. and he’s rolling… still rolling… wow it’s picking up a lot of momentum. Too much momentum, maybe…but then:

“oh shit,” he hisses quietly, and then a little more louder, “oh sHIT.” a boy stands in the middle of the street, directly in ten’s path. was he peeing?

ft. @iammatsu​

"you there! put your hands up!” “SUCK MY FARTS, COPPERS.”

freeze frame. this is chittaphon leechaiyapornkul, or better known as ‘ten’, and he’s about to get arrested. you might be wondering: what in the fuck did he do this time? but try not to misread the situation. It isn’t like that at all! ...probably.

literally five minutes earlier. 

it’s morning. ten enjoys an entire day to himself filled with self-loathing and eroge dating sims, but before any of that, the convenience store calls as it had more to offer than his own refrigerator. flipping through the discount magazines in the convenience store, he catches sight of a shriveled old man standing next to him, also reading the latest issue of ‘beach babe banana’s’. ah… it was almost like seeing himself in the future 50 or so years from now, beautiful. he lets the thought marinate in his mind for a bit longer before deciding to purchase some pre-made noodles. for the very first time, the morning’s have appealed to ten as the tranquil vibes have sated him.  this was what’s known as the calm before the storm.

as of today, CEO **** ******, president of ********* **** corporation’s bag has been stolen. the content includes the following: very classified documents. please keep a lookout for any possible suspects carrying this bag. more at 3. the television monitor boars through ten until he’s completely petrified. it was horrible. this was officially the worst morning ever. because what stares him back in the face is a simple light blue satchel, one that looks exactly like the bag he’s carrying right now. this was bad.

“g- … gotta get home,” is what he mumbles fearfully, collecting his things and scurrying out the sliding doors., but as he does so, he collides with an unsuspecting man. then...somehow… everything just fucking… falls out of his bag, and sweep through the breeze. normally, this would not matter, but for ten, if he didn’t move right now, his life would essentially come to a dramatic close. inside the bag that he clutches onto so protectively are … rough drafts to his upcoming raunchy-lewd-girls-love comic. the latter man proceeds to collect whatever papers flew into his direction. of course this was all out of courtesy, but little did he know..

“excuse me sir, you seemed to have dropped thi- GHCKK.” a swift kick in the gut is what keeps the man from fully digesting the image of two girls obsessively all over each other. ten doesn’t hesitate to swipe the papers from the latter’s hands. as if switching to ‘deus ex machina’ mode, the boy flips through the air, bending and twisting like a sci fi ninja to collect the rest of his papers. putting down anyone who crossed him.

“page 7… 8… 10.. 10?! where’s page 9?!” ah yes, page 9. the climax scene. probably the greatest page ten has ever drawn. the amount of effort, blood, sweat, tears, and other various fluids (like orange juice) that were put into this single page alone could be converted into currency. and that currency would end poverty. forever. 

but where was page 9?