Pockets

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📅 Published on November 24, 2012

"Pockets"

Written by

Estimated reading time — 2 minutes

You’re walking down a road near to a park. It’s dark, cold and wispy. The moon is slowly emerging through the smoke like clouds, giving a appealing glow. The wind is harshly blowing towards you, the bottom of your trench-coat flapping. The worst of it all, you can’t remember why you’re walking out this time of night! You just suddenly found yourself walking out the door, and decided you must have had a good reason. And this coat seemed new as well. You don’t remember wearing a coat like this, yet it seems vaguely familiar.

Your gut is telling you that you should carry on, you came out for a reason, if not you would have left 10 minutes ago. You’re always excited about lost or forgotten coats, because you always find interesting stuff in the pockets. Money, an old letter or drawing, something lost a long time ago, the list was endless. Throughout the walk, you felt a bit of excessive weight in your side pocket, and had been saving it for later on.

When you open the zip on the pocket, a horrible smell occurred. You winced at its rotting odour. It smelled of decay, and memories. You pull a disgusted face, and shakily reached your hand in the pocket.
Eugh! Some sort of horrible, sticky gloop is in there! You can’t look down to see what it is, as it had stuck to both sides of the pocket, sticking them tight. Some of it is watery and gloopy, sticks into the grooves of your skin! You quickly pull your hand out, the substance sliding off. You’re revolted, it feels like, and old jelly or drink left to spoil. Or someone’s huge glob of chewing gum, scrammed in. That must be it, you think. You had gum and stuck it in there, not thinking.

You carry on walking, but your curiosity entices you to put your hand in again, slowly. You take a deep breath and reach in your hand. It seems relatively the same as before, but as you rummage further, you, you can feel something more solid now, more defined. You dive your hand in further, getting to the source of this object. You feel it, its round, definitely, squidgy, spongy. You can immediately tell for some reason, that this is the thing causing the horrible odour. You feel it further, a bouncy ball? Tomato? Grape? No, that’s not it…

…Suddenly, an irresistible, realising grin spreads on your face. It all makes sense now. You can remember why you’re walking out, where the coat came from. Oh how she kicked! Oh she kicked and screamed and begged! Yet you simply hushed her, and got the knife. Oh, she was a tough one alright! But you got them! After much squirming and squealing, you got her eyes! Another marvellous souvenir of your victims to put in your pocket, to see anytime. Oh what fun you had! What was it this time? Ah yes, a tongue, you’d go out, get yourself a fresh tongue…

Credit To: YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE USERNAME!

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