
A wretched stench curled in a think film around its lips, discolored a fungal shade of yellow. A mouth that sat tightly closed over a set of teeth, fitted smile in the most offensive manners. One tooth to the left, but three more to the right, one twisting behind another like a cowering child ducking behind a tree, but still each tooth took on a degree all it's own pointing which-way-and-that. And behind the gate of yellow rotting bone, slept a tongue of the blackest rot. It slept, dormant, pressed to the roof of the mouth forcing the saliva away and selfishly suctioning itself to the wrinkled bowing of skin. |
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November 6
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