It
was like an elaborate form of house arrest for homeless royalty.
Capitalized by the guillotine gun mechanism. I had just arrived in
the room outfitted with marble shower. The blond girl, the last
family line of French royalty, smiled meekly with a punched up face.
Her friend, her servant, caressed her head in her bust.
"We
have a new visitor." the ex princess said. She gently stroked
her servants left nipple in a circular fashion.
"Its
been so long sense human contact." the servant girl said. She
had waited a while before slipping off her wooden clogs. "Forgive
me princess, not used to--"
"Shhh,
quiet now. You are family now newbie. The last family you'll have
before you die. Just like me, just like her. Just like my previous
friend. We all lose our heads here, shot with that device."
The
girls were like chickens on a stage, only without benefit of a dance
after you die. Except her previous friend, who reportedly stayed
alive for a final farewell. A funeral tap dance. And then flopped
o'er. They didn't want to reattach her head. That would defeat the
purpose.
I
suppose this is the end. The end of my life.
I
wondered where Ursula was.
No comments:
Post a Comment