/lit/ - Literature

2/2
“Good evening, everyone. I’ve got a small list of things to talk about here,” “and, I’d like to start with a con—”

And I, being the void artist of the cement, brains elegantly coating the banner behind me, an image to last forever, fell down so unprofessionally to the gasps of the audience. The sound of the bullet touching my skull was amplified over the microphone, and my peripheral mind became my world. Here I was, bodiless, no investment in all of this action; I’m gone, free, a soul of my own, and I’m sure I handed off my investment to some innocent who himself had no prior engagements, now being dragged out of his apartment nearby by Secret Service, a newfound life of actuality.

Fkin nerds gg no re