He pushed the word around his plate, its sallow skin seeping red essence. His mother wouldn’t understand. She would think they were more of his ‘nonsense words’. If only she could comprehend his great creativity.
Destruction is a kind of creation.
He smiled and pushed the word again until it was perfectly aligned, juice dripping from its gelatinous spine. Inventing was his favourite. Creating destruction… It was a delicious past time.
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