The drugs were causing big problems for Mickey...
His eyes hurt, his paws were sore and his damn cute little pink nose just wouldn't stop bleeding! This shit was starting to drive him insane, day after fucking day the cravings got worse. "Why did i ever start on those stupid fucking crack carrots!?" Mickey asked himself as he stumbled out of his makeshift warren. Technically it was an old stainless exhaust system from a wrecked Nissan skyline, some spotty, obssessive punk had wrapped around a lamppost a couple of years previous, but to Mickey it was home, all he had left after the fucked up roller coaster ride that his empty painful life had become...
Head case
It was a cold and wet wednesday morning, Mickey's head was pounding, like a jack hammer on an aged concrete sidewalk, the pain was almost unbearable but he had to go on, he had no other options, he'd gone on for too long now and there was no way he was gonna take the chicken shit way out, not after all this fucking suffering...
Lame ass bitch
Today Mickey's one goal was to make money, he had to make some damn money soon or how would he get another fix? Those damn crack carrots, the craving driving deep into the core of his ever tiring brain, why oh why did he ever start, why try them, he'd been warned but he just wouldn't listen. She's bad news they said, upto no good, it will end in tears, but that was Mickey through and through, always thinking he knew best, never taking heed of the advice from those around him, ever since escaping the lab he'd been the same and now it had come back to bite him, right on his cute fluffy ass...
Dead man talking
He needed some dough real bad, as his Uncle Rodney used to say "its all about the benjamins sonny, without that clean, green purchasing machine your life will amount to nothing!" Damn he was right, the words from his long deceased uncle ringing around Mickey's fragile head like a deranged out of control nascar screaming round the oval with 1001 laps left to go.
Don't look back in anger
Mickey remebered the day his uncle died like it was yesterday, he remembered the sound of the 18 wheelers tyres locked up, scrambling for grip on the harsh, broken, weathered asphalt, he remembered the smell of the smoke, that powerful stench of melting rubber as ghostly grey plumes belched from the overstrained shoes of the truck, but worst of all, he remembered the look of sheer terror and confusion on his uncles face moments before the imapct turned him into little more than a fluffy tailed pate. Rabbits feet are lucky, who the fuck ever decided that?! Mickey had never heard something so fucking wrong in his life, where was the luck for his uncle rodney, wise, caring, concerned and loving as he was, where the fuck was his supposed luck hey!? Mickeys lips curled back in both anger and despair to reveal his broken, stained front teeth nestled loosely in his swollen, bloody, diseased gums. His dry and bloodshot eyes welled up with tears, they almost came as a relief, like some kind of saline solution sent from the heavens to help him see more clearly, but he didnt want to see clearly, he wanted to forget, forget his mistakes, his stupid, foolish mistakes. He wanted to wash the pain and idiocy out of his spinning head, to cleanse himself of the torture and suffering he'd so blindly but willingly welcomed into his life, he needed another fix and he needed it soon...
The blame game
The haul into town was a tough one, eight mile cross country, crossing the freeway twice and lets not forget the farm, that damn farm with that crazed, blank eyed, foaming at the mouth, bad ass, german shepard muther fucker, how could he ever forget that damn farm! Six months ago, that was Mickey's first 'introduction' to the farm, when i say the farm i guess i mean the insane, flea riddled, stinking excuse for a dog that resides there. Mickey was minding his own business, making his way to town as he had on so many occassions previously. He quite enjoyed it, the open air, the fresh green grass, so soft under his tired, cracked paws, the tranquility had almost hypnotic powers, there were times he nearly forgot, NEARLY forgot what a sad and fucked up mess his life was, NEARLY forgot how his stupidity got his kind Uncle Rodney crushed like a garlic clove in a french kitchen, and NEARLY forgot the cravings... those damn cravings, drilling into his head like the U.S. government drilling for oil in the baren deserts of the middle east, the mind bending pain pulsing through his brain like the shock wave from a thousand hiroshimas... but he never could forget, tranquil as the farm was the pain just wouldn't go, but no-one could blame Mickey for trying... could they? No, the answer was no but they could blame him, hunt him, even try and tear him apart like an old fan belt, shredded like secret files in a federal building. Not for trying to forget, but for forgetting, forgetting where he was, on the farm, not his farm, someone else's, and Mickey did not have permission to be there...
That's all i ever achieved...
Mr Beast
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