Layla

She loved to dance, oh how she loved to dance. Her feet stomped to the rhythm, her hips would swivel and twitch back and forth. Her eyes were always closed, however. I loved to see her eyes almost as much as she loved to dance. I always felt a twang of sadness whenever she danced. I really love to see her eyes.
Her name is Samantha, and I love her. Just like how she loves to dance.
There was this place that we liked to go every night. It was on the roof of her apartment building. I am not a big fan of heights, but I go there with her anyway because I like to see the way that her eyes sparkle in the moonlight, although she normally is not looking towards me, she is looking at the stars. When I do get a glimpse of her eyes, they fill me with the most amazing feeling. I feel like those stars that she loves so much.
She was surprised to see me when I snuck into her bedroom at night, but thats okay. She likes surprises. She was even more surprised when I showed her my screwdriver. It was slightly used, but I was very proud of it. Her eyes widened very much when she saw it, and her face showed a very peculiar expression. I liked it.
I went deep inside her with my screwdriver, and I listened to her whimpering and screamed as I explored her curious internals. Finally, I exited her frail body, my screwdriver held tight in my hand. I smiled in bliss with my liquid covered hands. I finally stuck my fingers into both of her holes, her toes curling and her throat releasing a slow, deep-gurgling grunt. She dropped onto the bed. In my hands, I held them. Her eyes. I am finally happy again.
I will call them Layla.
Category:Mental Illness
Category:Micropasta