Psychotic 3


Once upon a time in a far far away land lived three people you probably will never meet. Joan was the butterfly keeper she spun tales from other people lives in seconds, she lied about everything. Joan hated to tell the truth, it wasn’t important to her.She was beautiful but psychotic. Her hair was the color of true love, dirty brown as shit. Her hobbies were collecting water from the local tavern well, throwing pennies in exchange for nightmares. Joan’s only memory of her mother was needle like, a raven preached outside somewhere on top of an ambulance. The doctor whispering to her mother that it was for the best, children like this should be locked away. It was tight, it was scary straps digging Jesus preaching the blood dripping making fun of the bluish veins between Joan’s legs. It was all because of Daddy and what Daddy did, Daddy was an important man with important friends who held parties underneath brick houses for Joan. They brought presents and tears. Daddy told Joan he loved her make Daddy happy be a doll and kiss for Daddy. Christmas came sometimes Christmas stayed with mice stealing cheese for little Joan tied up gagged bruised and loved by Daddy while Mommy was away with her high society friends. Eight years since the time Joan was three Daddy had been loving Joan in that room underneath brick houses with all of his important friends. One day after the fancy party with the Mayor and Santa, they forgot Joan in the closet. They forgot her for seven days with a pistol as her only companion. It was a nice shiny thing, on the dresser with all of Joan’s toys. A rabbit noisemaker named Dolby and a bag of Jolly Ranchers. It was dark in the closet, all Joan could see was the reflection of the friendly pistol, spurts of hunger Joan drank her own urine dreaming of friends who would never make her do these things that Daddy made her do. The door to the closet finally opened on the eighth morning of being forgotten, she was starving and hallucinating demons all around her trying to prick their fingers in her ears, up her nose when a shadow appeared in the doorway.
“Joan, you little slut, are you dead? Your Mother and I had a talk, she knows Joan she knows all about us. I had to leave you here to sort it out my pet.”
Joan nodded and sighed it was cold she was always cold, it was because she was sad and a bit mad from all the abuse she had endured for the past eight years. Daddy reached down to brush her hair from her face, his eyes were dark and red. Joan shut her eyes turned her head to the right breathed in waited for the kiss but it never came. She opened her eyes and saw a strange little woman in orange holding a pair of scissors, standing over her Daddy dead on the floor. “Hello, little one. I think it’s about time you come with me.”

“Go where? I don’t understand, what did you do to my Daddy?”
“I killed him, I sent him to hell where he belonged, it was only a matter of time. I am just sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I was on vacation in the sun in a land far far away from here.” The strange little woman in orange cut the rope that was holding Joan captive took her hand and told her not to look back. They walked up the steps together right into the hands of the Police. They were waiting for the two with guns and dogs spit and flame.

Orange Boy was the second psychotic. He was born in a basket of baby powder in the back of a strip club. His mother gave birth to him holding her meth pipe, a bouquet of cheap lipstick and a roll of pennies.Orange Boy sat wrapped in toilet paper in his basket of baby powder while his mother danced to sexy music containing sexy beats for twenty dollars a dance. She was not much of a pole dancer though she was a regular at private dances. Orange Boy and his mother lived in a RV on the edge of town near the local LDS church. It was an old school red monster that had peach trees in the makeshift bathtub, wire cages holding snails and dead pigeons on top of the toilet that was never used. Orange Boy got his name from his orange eyes which his mother had no idea where they came from. She had fucked thousands of men strange men old men, the son of a preacher men and nobody that ever stuck their dick in her body ever had orange eyes. When his mother was a little girl she believed in nonsense things such as fairies. She had heard of changelings and decided that when Orange Boy was three years old to leave him in the snow the day after Christmas. Twas the night before Christmas when all through the RV not a whore was stirring no preacher on the TV. Orange Boy sat on the bed staring at his mother she was still as stone. She had been dead for four days.

“Mommy, mm mm, don’t, mommy.”

“There there darling, she had been dead for years. She never knew how to love you, she gave it her best and even then she couldn’t. She didn’t even know how to love herself. It is not your fault little Orange Boy.”
“How, how do you know my name?”
“I have been watching you ever since you cried your first tear, I knew this would happen eventually it was only a matter of time.Come with me, I have a house in a land far far away from here. There is a little girl not that much older than yourself she tends the butterflies.”

Fiona was the number three. She was born a happy baby to a wonderful parents who loved her so much. One night a man came to the house with a gun and raped her and killed her parents… killed her dog and her best fried who was staying over too.. he was about to pull the trigger when a strange little woman in orange came and rescued Fiona

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