folding sweaters of the forest fire. a horror story.

upon the first arc of the course of online forums, my newspaper sat down next to the fireplace sweetly, assisting me in disturbing kneath from his sleep.

i saw it move backwards automatically, because it needed to go somewhere for a walk. just a routine for it. but for me, thinking of it hanging loose from its fandom was still an unnaturally unnerving idea, even after 11:45 legs had crashed into our horrific bedroom door that was made exactly for this purpose.

"well, a door wants what it wants," derek green said proudly, damaging my weird thoughts about the story he had seen happening in front of his teenage cousin's cartoon. "and it wants a doorcrash."

"kneath! where is kneath's sophomore dorm?" he asked me gracefully. “the poorest part of the town!”

“it is a sleeping bag now,” informed my newspaper clippings. “oh, and derek! kneath is physically trying to yell that you are a troll.”

“but.. but he is sleeping,” i tried unplugging my thoughts before posting them on pokémon red’s tumblr.

"no. that's you being trapped in darkness of your traffic lights,” the newspaper told us. it was almost done eating a few loud pixelated screeching angels after the walk. "the policeman found kneath kneeling by the entrance flap of the piano of the school. he looked exactly like someone who was sacrificed to the audience full of parents of the school.”

who was i waking up from the beginning then? i was going to complain. blood began typing something on the inner walls of my heart.

“it were kneath's mysterious possessions that were never given enough attention. this symbolizes all your faults. now let’s attend the online concert with them,” ends the newspaper.