13-18 (1)

## Bonked Quite Hard

Sandy woke up feeling sore and tired. Two large bumps still throbbed on his head where he had rudely been bonked.

It was time to accept his fate.

He dragged his pathetic sandy body out of the cot he now used as a bed. He couldn’t imagine how Snake had found out so quickly.

As he was a prince, his cell was a little nicer than average. There was a tiny mirror on the wall. There was a sink, a toothbrush, and some other supplies.

Sandy boy stared into his reflection. There were dark bags under his eyes, and his hair was matted and tangled. He wasn’t supposed to look like this goddammit.

He emptied the cactus blossom mouthwash that came in a tiny, hotel-style capsule into his mouth. There was only one serving, because he was only living another day. Sandy could certainly imagine Snake laughing as they rationed out his last- well, everythings.

It was sour and foul. Like his fate.

“Good morning my dear prisoner!” Pcab bounded across the hall. It was horrible. He knew his fate. He would be bonked by the bonkitine, and his shattered body would be dragged away. The people would never see him again. He would be butchered like a pig for Pcab’s dinner. Along with that he missed his Beloved, Muscle man, for his TAUT muscles were rather nice.

Pcab jabbed a key into the lock on the bars of his cell. The door opened, and she stepped inside.

“Don’t keep the crowd waiting, you sand phrog! Everyone’s already excited!”

“Everyone-?” Sandy asked weakly, as Pcab snapped her fingers for a servant to come. A little milk(glilk) snake entered timidly.

“Of course everyone, your scandle didn’t settle well with the public, they were practically demanding your execution.”

“But-” Sandy started weakly,

“Tie him up and lead him to the podium, I’m not touching that thing,” Pcab dismissed.

“Yesss misss urine sshelf,” the servant mumbled. They bounded Sandy’s hands together, tied another rope around him, and dragged him out of the prison.

The halls were long and dark. The ceilings were so low, it felt like they were crushing him.

He silently obeyed and followed behind Pcab.

There was the faint roar of the anticipating crowd that grew louder and louder as the light at the end of the hall grew brighter and brighter. He couldn’t tell if they were cheering or crying, He hoped they were crying, but it didn’t sound like it.

All hope was lost.

He walked into the stadium with his head hanging low.

This was the end of his epic tale.

Alas. It was time.

Sandy’s arms were tied crudely behind his back. A servant tugged him along on a rope, onto a raised wooden platform where the Bonkitine was. There wasn’t even a basket for his head, because Snake obviously didn’t want to spare any details.

There was a crowd seated in the stadiums. He looked up hopefully, looking for his family, or his crying fans, but before he even caught a glimpse of his audience, his head was shoved into the wooden block. He caught sight of muscle man, it was horrifying, the sheer agony painted on his face, it was unbearable.

“Welcome, welcome!” Pcab roared from somewhere above him. “Is anyone excited?”

To Sandy’s horror, he could hear cheers amongst the crowd. He saw Muscle man crying. It was truly pitiful.

Pcab bowed. “Well, I sure am! Let’s show this prince what we think! At least, this lying cheating excuse for one.” Locking eyes with him, he could tell they held no mercy or regret. Snake was next to her, He didn’t want to look at them. He knew if he locked eyes with them it would be game over, he wanted to go with acceptance, not fear.

“Well let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” slapping his back. He could almost hear her whispering “Just tenderizing the meat” to Snake.

“C’mon, count with me!” she shouted to the crowd. “Three..Two...One!”

It was all too sudden. A colossal iron baseball bat was whooshing down.

Sandy couldn’t have ever prepared himself for the excruciating pain. His ears rang as it collided with his head and neck. His skull shattered. His neck snapped from the sheer force. His neck bones were little daggers that pierced his skin as they shattered into tiny, fishbone sized shards.

His blood was splattered all over the platform. The onlookers cheered. Muscle man screamed in agony, but he wasn’t heard over the cheers that only grew louder.

His father fell on the ground, toppling down the bleachers. His mother cried, her face hardly visible. His brother Granny, he regretted being so mean to him.

That was the last thing Sandromedus John Boye I ever saw.

Sandrew gasped and twitched in his seat. His wife, Sandria, could only look. Sandrew clasped his hand to his heart and squeezed. The pain was unbearable, like a fire spreading. His limbs seized up like a dead spider.

“Sandria-” he wheezed, then flopped on the floor. She couldn’t watch any longer.

“No! Sandrew!” his wife cried and begged. “Listen here, you are not going to-”

She reached down and felt his neck. The heat was slowly fading, but started descending into a frigid cold. His pulse rapidly slowed to a stop, until it was like touching a clammy corpse. It was too late, and she knew it.

Sandria teetered on the stands at the horrid thought of losing her son and husband of 35 years on the same day.

She fainted on the spot. Her body collapsed like a house of cards and she tumbled out of the royal box.

She fell a hundred feet onto the hard concrete below. Her body gave a sickening *crunch*.

Sandria was immediately taken to the Landysandian Gardens Hospital. After an intensive 14 hour surgery, she emerged. She would never walk again. She was paralyzed from the chest down, but she was alive, and that's all that mattered to Granny.

## Granny is Fishking Depressed

Granny knew the execution was coming. It was over the moment he found out about Sandys Hidden romance. He had braced himself for this moment. He was cruel, but yet **still**, he was still his brother. His death still rocked him to his core. He knew what was coming.

His father, always said that he had heartburn, but he knew it was something far more sinister. His mother, weak and frail when her 3rd child, a single daughter, didn’t make it. He was the only one untouched by the cruel figure of reality.

When he saw his father die of the heart attack he knew was coming, he did nothing. He was too cowardly. When he saw his Mother fall from the top box, he did nothing. He regretted every moment. But when he saw her emerge, he was overjoyed, and consumed by guilt. He had done nothing,

If he was better, she wouldn't have suffered the cruel fate she was given.

Sandy was the golden child, he was always reminded, He was unwanted, the mear backup. He hadn’t prepped for this, he was supposed to handle the trade of the kingdoms, not be consumed by every choice he ever made, he was terrified about being king. The faint glimmer of hope he had when his mother survived was long gone. In fact in general she was gone, no longer replying to him, and never spoke.

She was alive, simply just there, mumbling directions through servants. She existed, but her soul wasn’t in it. Sandria Girle-Boye was a hollow husk of a queen.

Granny Boy wondered if she would be happier with her dead husband.

A *clink* interrupted him from his dark thoughts. Ppiss, his demonized tabby cat, hissed and hit his empty glilk bowl on a table leg. He glared at Granny with his glowing yellow eyes, as if reminding him, *All of this is your fault*.

Granny sighed deeply. He got up from his desk, his bones feeling a hundred years older, like they were about to dissolve into dust.

He reached over to pick up Ppiss’s bowl. Ppiss screeched and swiped his long, curved claws in Granny’s direction.

A few beads of bright red blood bubbled from three long gashes on his forearm. They dropped into Ppiss’s bowl and he eagerly licked them up. That’s how you knew he was a demon cat.

Granny reached over to the (piss)cabinet with his uninjured arm and searched through the various bottles until he found a blue bottle full of a glistening, white liquid. Glilk. He himself was lactose intolerant, but it smelled like something he would enjoy.

Granny popped the lid off the bottle and bent over to pour some into Ppiss’s bowl. Ppiss glared at him.

Granny sealed the bottle and put it back in its place. He sat down by the window, trying to ignore the sounds of Ppiss loudly slurping glilk. Even his cat hated him now. There was no one left in his life.

## Belly Fat for Pcab!

Pcab laughed and clinked her soilk and glilk cocktail with Snake’s glass.

“To Hisscabinet!” she toasted drunkenly. Even though Pcab is lactose intolerant, soilk was brought out for this special occasion.

Snake laughed with her. They dined in the bonk closet, but it had been fashioned to be suitable for eating. A round table and two chairs had been put in the empty space. Candles flickered from all around them. Atop of the table cloth was a large silver platter.

Pcab lifted the lid off the platter. There was Sandy’s belly fat, as promised, seasoned with salt, pepper, and a bit of lemon juice. She looked at it in awe for a few moments, before slicing a piece for Snake and set it on their plate.

“We’re lucky to have this much,” Pcab declared. “Quite lucky that Sandy was quite a plump fellow.”

Snake took a bite of belly fat and wiped their mouth with a forehead skin napkin.

Pcab took the little bit of forehead skin left and rumpled it up elegantly, setting it in the belly fat to look like weirdly colored lettuce.

A bonker entered the closet. They were a smol snek, not even a snek, just a Wörmy nöödle. They saw Snake and Pcab with the plate of belly fat set on the table, and the candles decorating the scene, and backed out without even taking their bonking bat.

Pcab laughed wildly. Scaring inferiors was her third favorite hobby. The second one was scaring superiors, also known as no one B). Well, Snake was her “manager” but they considered each other equals in a way.

As they shared a DeLiCiOuS meal in the closet, Snake and Pcab knew their relationship was not just platonic anymore.

## A Sandy Tribute

Sblack Bart curled his fingers in and let them burst into a bright blue flame, crackling and sparking with a gloomy aura. He threw the flames into the crab-shaped lanterns he had brought, somehow lighting them perfectly with none of the paper burning. He floated them onto the river. It was a quiet night, and he was the only one present. Other than a few flickering fireflies whose lights dotted the sky, he was alone to mourn.

The river let the lanterns bob along the surface, slowly moving along as if even nature mourned with Sblack. He never would have allowed this tragedy to happen if he had known. It was a pity, for Sandy Boy was probably the first friend he ever made cause he was a lonely bum.

Sblack thought about his Arsonmobile, rising in the air on a wave of sand, and Sandy Boy, hiccuping while he chugged an entire liter of soilk. He thought of their adventures, their petty little quarrels, and the things they had bonded over.

He reached into the oversized pockets of his Arson Cloak and pulled out a loaf of sand bred. He remembered the first time he roasted a loaf for sandy.

This bread was cold, like he felt. He didn’t have the energy to cook it thoroughly or keep it warm, but cold bread was better than no bread.

Sblack Bart set the bread on a raft of cactus flowers, and floated it down the river. It was a serene, sad, setting. The river was cold and dark, but not harsh. Its voice was silent in the bubbling of the water.

He kneeled down on the pebbly shores and saluted the bread floating down the river. Sandy was gone. The best friend he ever had was dead. He dipped his hand in the cool water, and felt a few grains of sand pass through his fingers. As Sandy’s body was discarded, he would dissolve into the ground, until a primrose or something would sprout from his body, spreading his sand throughout his desert.

Sandy could’ve been the next king. Now, it was either Snake or Granny. Sandy could’ve been great but he’d been stopped by one person who’d thought they could take him.

As Sblack Bart raised his head, his face hardened.

He knew who did this.

Without Muscle Man, Sandy would still be alive.

## Sblack is Fishking Murdered, Good Riddance

Sblack was on a lovely stroll, he had set the local hospital on fire where he had caused injury to the people who had escaped his last fire. He did not know that Swhite was recovering in this hospital, or that Octangula lurked nearby, vibing to Tally Hall while leaving the local bakery with some sand bred. (Possibly from Sandy Boy)

Completely oblivious to the thoughts brewing around him, he pranced away to commit another arson eagerly. Among the oblivious thoughts was his LoVE: Octagon. He wonders how he would impress his lover he loved sO DeARly. Oh how he MiSsEd him. Unfortunately Octagon did NOT like him setting fire to HOSPITALS of all things. Only abandoned playgrounds and Skittles: Taste the Rainbow! .

As Sblack Bart pranced over to set fire to a nursing home, Octangula watched in silence from a distance. Though Octangula wasn’t the smartest, he knew burning innocent people alive was wrong. And Octa was sick of Sblack not returning home. And so, as Sblack charred the residents of the nursing home to a crisp, Octangula set off for their house. He didn’t want to watch this anymore. He needed to prepare.

And so, Sblack was dramatically walking away from the harm he had just caused. It looked like something out of a movie, where they walk away from the explosions and it looks really cool. You know those? Well, that was what Sblack was doing. And contrary to the flames surrounding him, he felt very cool. Arson was the coolest power you could have. Unlike his dumbass brother and his “flood” powers. Truly an idiot. And his idiotic sister, what kind of idiot would choose to some air things over *fire,* gosh. I swear I'm going to-

He never finished his train of thought, because a bat was slammed over his head, and he fell to the ground.

Sblack woke with his head throbbing. He was clearly back at home, on the couch.

“Hey, you're finally awake. So are you going to lay there pathetically or will you speak to me already?” Octagon snapped. He sounded pissed. Sblack wondered what he did, did he leave the oven on? He was so busy cooking sand phrogs alive, he sometimes left it burning all night.

“Hey Oct, so today I decided-” Sblack started

“I know.”

“What?” turning around to see a stone cold face on Octagon.

“I said I know,” snapped Octagon. “I saw you burn down that hospital, I saw you set fire to the nursing home, I’ve seen it all, I've told you time and time again, Stop burning the innocent! What did the children in that hospital do to you? Or the 89 year olds in that nursing home? What do I have to do to stop all of this?”

“Octagon please you know how it is, *insert something about love*”

“You’re- did you just say *insert something about love*?”

Sblack Bart tried for a sheepish smile. He was all about that *hot arson*, but his home life wasn’t so hot.

“I-” Sblack was at a loss of words. Octa was supposed to smile and forgive him, wasn’t he? What was he doing wrong? He only killed about 200 people today, why was he so pissed?

“You know, fishk you,” Octagon scoffed. *insert one of his copypastas*

Sblack was very startled to say the least.

Octangula lifted up a small piano, and smashed it over Sblack’s head. A G-note rang out, and Sblack promptly collapsed onto the floor.

Octangula slipped the keys of the Arsonmobile from Sblack’s cloak and disappeared from the scene.

Two days later, when the body was discovered by NQN, Octangula was long gone.

The Arson Cloak weighed down on his shoulders, yet the bitterly cold night stung his bones. Octangula drove through the desert on the windy night, the moon lighting his path.

The Arsonmobile sputtered and jolted. There was only ⅛ of a soul left in the tank. Octangula knew it wouldn’t last much longer.

There was a small, warm yellow light way off in the distance. It was probably miles away, but it was something. He excitedly slammed the acceleration pedal and the Arsonmobile leaped over a clump of cacti, and sped off in the direction of the light.

As Octangula got closer to the building, he began to see the many lighted windows that glowed in the darkness. The building was much larger than it looked, and there were a few people walking around it. It was an orphanage(he could tell from the giant sign)

The Arsonmobile shuttered to a stop. There were no souls left in the tank.

Octangula shoved open the door and leaped out. He ran through the sand, feeling the gritty grains in his shoes. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until he was knocking on the door.

A sleepy looking teen holding a lamp opened the door. As soon as they saw Octa, though, their face brightened.

“Come in!” they offered. “Octa, it’s so great to see you again!”

“Who are you, though?” Octa asked.

The mysterious person shrugged. “A random 8th grader you happen to be related to. Now come on, the cold air is getting in.”

\*\*\*

Octangula lived with these 8th graders for many years.

## Swhite Takes an L

Sblack’s arson was getting out of hand.

Swhite coughed hoarsely. He had originally been in the Krabby Hospital, but Sblack had decided to burn that down. Now he had been transferred to Sandrine Hospital. His leg was propped up and wrapped in bandages. There was a lonely, half-deflated Mylar balloon lingering in the corner. The gashes in his leg were worse than he thought. Muscle man had ripped out his tendons and sliced up some muscle in the process. His skin, fat and muscle had been cut right through in the process and his weak, thin bones were exposed. Swhite’s left leg was mangled.

And, Swhite, being a flood boy, tried to heal it with wAtEr PoWeRs. And the wound got infected. And then he got a fever and all his water evaporated and he was flopping on the floor like a suffocating fish until Sgrey found him and took him to the hospital.

And then his brother set fire to the hospital he was in, so Swhite also had third degree burns and ash in his nose and throat. Even someone less pathetic than he was would be lucky to be alive.

How fun.

Swhite’s hands twitched. He wanted to strangle Sblack, but he was probably too pissy.

*I wish he was dying instead of me,* he thought bitterly.

He looked up and saw Sgrey towering over him. She was 6 inches taller than him, but when sitting down next to his bed, she was very toll.

“God, what happened to you this time?” She was much more gentle than Sblack. She actually cared about those people he had burnt alive.

“Hospital was burned down, by Sblack of course.” rasped Swhite, Sgray sighed in response. She was usually smoking, or blowing out 10 foot birthday candles, but Swhite was glad she kept the air calm in the hospital. The last thing he needed was another powerful sibling summoning a tornado and flinging him into a cornfield in Florida. Because that’s where Sorange lived.

He did not want to live with that corn and spraytan motherfishker.

A floppy silver thing that wasn’t Sgrey’s hair uh, *flopped* onto his bed. There was a wet spot where Fishk’s containment bubble touched the sheets, but he didn’t really care. Fishk, his (platonically) beloved fish.

“Hey there,” Swhite said, stroking Fishk’s, uh, scales?

Fishk made some fish noises and swam around in the bubble.

Sgrey and Swhite looked up in surprise as they heard the door clatter open. A short boy with black hair and a bloodied gray jacket ran into the room, breathless. He shoved past the table on wheels with water and get well cards, and collapsed on the floor at the foot of the bed. Swhite tried to get up to see who he was, but Sgrey pushed him back down (not in a kinky way, you horny bastards). She strode over to the other end of the bed and helped the person get to their feet.

“Who are you, what the fishk are you doing, and why did no one stop you?” she demanded.

“Nqn, telling you that sblack’s dead, they tried,” he gasped. The siblings’ jaws dropped, staring at him.

But secretly, the monster inside of Swhite roared to life, free.