Welcome to my hell


Women are putting bras on a limb-less mannequin behind me. I am trapped in some sort of absurdist hell.

The mannequin is now fully dressed. There’s a little family of mannequins on the table now.

Mommy mannequin and daddy mannequin are arguing about grandma mannequin’s drinking problem.

Their mannequin children are hiding in the living room, crying their sad little mannequin tears.

Suddenly the conversation in the kitchen goes quiet, so quiet that the lounge jazz playing quietly on the radio can be clearly heard. They know I’m here now. They know I’m the interloper. They will attack me in a few minutes, clawing at me with their… maniqured mannequin hands.

I hear a gunshot from the kitchen. I peek in. Grandma mannequin has shot father mannequin in the chest. Shards of foam and plastic mix in with blood, pooling on the floor under the table. I decide now would be a good time to beat a hasty retreat.

Hey guys, sorry I stopped posting. What’s up? -nf

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