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By Root 767 0

you met Tom when he was looking under your bonnet, oooh . . . wir jist sayin ’if now Cathy . . . he was fixing your car which had gone infor a for a service, oh, I see . . . hopefully he hud mair sense . . . first game’s called ‘Shoot To Kill’ . . . but it isnae an automatic death sentence . . . and who better to show us the ropes than my old mate, from the Royal Archery Society of Great Britain, the one and only Len Holmes! . . . that’s aw ah’m sayin Cathy . . .

Ah started tae feel a crippling nausea and the room began tae spin. Ah fell oot ay the chair n puked tomatay soup aw ower the fireside rug. Ah don’t remember getting pit tae bed. There goes my first love woo-hoo . . .

Ma body was being twisted and crushed. It wis like ah hud collapsed in the street and a skip hud been lowered oan top ay us, n a squad ay vicious workies wir loading it up wi heavy building materials, while at the same time sticking sharp rods underneath to skewer ma body. With the guy I used to . . .

What’s the fuckin time? Ah wonder what the fuck 7:28. I can’t forget her . . .

Hazel

My heart is breaking woo-hoo when 1 see her . . .

Ah throw back the weighty duvet and look at Paddy Stanton. Paddy. Whit am ah gaunny dae? Gordon Durie. Juke Box. What’s the fuckin score here? Why did ye leave us Juke Box, ya cunt? Iggy . . . you’ve been thair. Help us man. HELP ME.

What did you say aboot it aw?

YOU’RE NO FUCKIN HELP YA CUNT . . . NO FUCKIN HELP AT AW . . .

Blood flows oantae the pillow. Ah’ve bitten ma tongue. Severely severed by the looks ay it. Every cell in ma body wants tae leave it, every cell is sick hurting marinated in pure fuckin poison

cancer

death

sick sick sick

death death death

AIDS AIDS fuck yis aw FUCKIN CUNTS FUCK YIS AW

SELF-INFLICTED PEOPLE WI CANCER — NAE CHOICE

FIR THAIM DESERVING

AIN FAULT AUTOMATIC DEATH SENTENCE

THROWIN AWAY YIR LIFE DOESNAE NEED TAE BE

AN AUTOMATIC DEATH SENTENCE DESTROY

REHABILITATE

FASCISM

NICE WIFE

NICE BAIRNS

NICE HOOSE

NICE JOAB

NICE

NICE TA SEE YA, TA SEE YA. . . .

NICE NICE NICE BRAIN DISORDER DEMENTIA

HERPES THRUSH PNUEMONIA

WHOLE LIFE AHEAD AY YE MEET A NICE LASSIE N SETTLE DOON . . .

She’s still ma first lurve

BROAT IT OAN YIRSEL.

Sleep.

More terrors. Am ah asleep or awake? Who fuckin knows or cares? No me. The pain’s still here. Ah know one thing. If ah move, ah’ll swallow ma tongue. Nice bit ay tongue. That’s what ah cannae wait for ma Ma giein us, just like in the old days. Tongue salad. Poison your children.

Ye’ll eat that tongue. That’s a nice, tasty bit ay tongue thair son.

YE’LL EAT THAT TONGUE.

If ah don’t move, ma tongue will slide down ma gullet anyway. Ah can feel it moving. Ah sit up, consumed by a blind panic, and retch, but thir’s nowt comin up. Ma heart’s thrashing in my chest, and sweat’s lashing from my emaciated frame.

Is this sllllleeeeeeeeepppppppp.

Oh fuck. Thir’s somethin in this room wi me it is comin oot the fuckin ceiling above the bed.

It’s a baby. Wee Dawn, crawlin along the ceilin. Greetin. But it’s lookin doon it us now.

— You let me fuckin diieeeeee, it sais. It’s no Dawn. No the wee bairn.

Naw, ah mean, this is fuckin crazy.

The bairn has sharp, vampire teeth wi blood drippin fae them. It’s covered in a sick yellow-green slime. It’s eyes are the eyes ay every psychopath ah’ve ever met.

— Yefuckinkilledme litmefuckindie junkedupootyirfuckin heids watchinthefuckinwaws ya fuckindopeyjunkycunt ah’llfuckinripyefuckinopen n feedoanyirfuckinmiserablesickgreyjunky-flesh startinwiyirjunkycockcauseahdiedafuckinvirginahllnivirgitafuckinridenivirgittaewearfuckinmakeupncoolclathesnivirgittaebeanythin causeyoufuckinjunkycuntsnivircheckedus yisletusfuck-indiefuckinsuffocatetaefuckindeath yiskenwhitthatfeelslikeyacunts causeahvegoatafuckinsoulnahkinstillknowfuckinpainnyousecunts youseselfishfuckinjunkycuntswiyirfuckinskagtookitawawayfius soahmgaunnychewyourfuckindiseasedprickoafWANTAFUCKINBLOWJOBWANTAFUCKINBLOWJOBWANTAFAAAAAAAAACKIN

It springs fae the ceilin doon oan top ay us. Ma fingers rip and tear