Because It's Better To Be Irrational With Me Than Rational With Someone Else

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The Worldly Matters Mattered Not To Him

Stan and I were walking down the campus. Oh so empty from the absence of Ultimate- Frisbee-playing undergrads; and, oh so full of abandoned bikes just asking to be taken into custody. As we were walking and enjoying the rare beautiful weather, I noticed a man sitting on the bench. He was drenched in blood. But he seemed not to care.

Maybe it wouldn�t have bothered me as much if it were not for the flies. They were all over. Wherever the blood was, there were the flies. The flies walked on the wounded legs and licked and bathed in the bloody wounds. Meanwhile, the man just sat there observing people. He might as well been reading a book or eating a sandwich� he was so nonchalant about the situation.

I turned away from the scene. It was grossly disturbing.
�Aww, poor girl is afraid of lil� blood??� Stan mocked me with pure amusement.
�Nah. Blood doesn�t bother me. I could totally take a screwdriver and stab you with it multiple times; and then with it, dig each organ out, and finish up by rolling the meters of your intestines on it, without even a squint in my eyes or a hint of my lunch backing up. The flies on the wound, on the other hand, � THAT I cannot handle.�
Stan turned pale: �THERE WERE FLIES?!�
He understood immediately.

Flies were an overkill on already a gruesome picture.

Actually, scratch that. Flies are an overkill on just about anything. There.

1:58 a.m. - June 04, 2010

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