Chaos heart fell apart and couldn’t put [he]rself back together again. Also, [s]he left a horrible big stain on the rug where she crumpled. There was quite a lot of blood.

You see.

She couldn’t get the bodies [memories] buried deep enough, no matter how far down she dug.

And furthermore. Yes, there’s more.

They always came creeping back again, from out of the sleazy shadows.

The nasty men with the graspy hands and the sweaty stink and the alcohol foul breath.

Oh yes.

They always came back again for [he]r, they always came back for more.

And even though they were dead and gone, and nothing more than grubby grisly bones in their graves.

The nightmares and horrors and dreadful memories wouldn’t leave chaos alone.

Oh pity poor old chaos heart for she is damned forever more.

Except.

She doesn’t want your pity.

She’d rather someone just help her clean up the mess.

It was a terribly big puddle of blood.

 

The end.

Thank you.

 

Whisperwills.