Why Are You What The Fuck ! Essay
“Why are you… WHAT THE FUCK!”
“Well, please try and restrict yourself from using profanity; my mom hates it.”
In the middle of the room was a little girl laying facedown on the floor with her arms and legs spread apart. Is she dead? Was my reason two from our movie date on the money? Does Ariana and her folks murder little kids for fun so they can lay their dead corpse’s around the house? Am I the next victim? Damnit, I fell into a trap. I should’ve learned from all the scary movies and shows I watched over the years, that once the killer fails to take you out using lethal food and you manage to avoid dying from a tragic car accident, that of course they’ll lead you on so they can torment you to death in their chamber of… I can’t think of a name right now, but just know it ain’t pretty.
“Don’t be shy,” she smiled, casually stepping over her lifeless little victim. “Make yourself at home. But don’t go underwear raiding like you did at my apartment. I doubt my dad will let you off as easy as I did.”
That’s not the fucking problem here! “Pretty interesting place you got here,” I quivered, eyes still glued on the little girl.
She replied to my observation with a baffled expression. “Really? I believe…