It's Sunday. But tomorrow, they're gonna bind you up in bands and put you in a bag of ice and someone is gonna smash you with a hammer and then boil you as you scream, stuck under a pot in the water of fire. You'll push and you'll prod and wonder how you even got here, plucked from your home. But guess what, crab? God lets babies and puppies die every single day. You don't mean less than shit. I'll break your claws and devour you, no questions asked.

Photo - S
Words - S