Tongue RingI kissed a boy with a tongue ring once. I was sober, but he was stoned. I'd watched them inhale lovely toxic fumes in a room upstairs that made my belt glow in the black light. He had his fingers through my jeans, and that's how I knew I'd never see him again.
It's like watching carnivorous meals. The ones caught by surprise and immediate surrender go down smoothly. Painlessly. Still wiggling a little as their tails disappear into vast and powerful jaws.
It's the ones that wanted to live that get it the worst. There isn't much you can do once they have you pinned to the sides of their plastic tank. But you fight it anyway, you poor bastards. They claw at you and drag you to the bottom; drowning you in the one thing you've known all your short miserable lives. And once your heads are severed they let them float on the melancholy surface, gloating over their victory, while the rest of us doomed creatures huddle together in a cold and glittering mass in the furthest corner we can find.