The Start

I’m starting a blog. I have little to do and very few people get to read my writing at present, so I intend to put some of my stuff online for random people to read. It’s a little like what Dickens did. Think of my stuff as penny dreadfuls, short stories or installments of one story that provide excitement, suspense and high adventure at least that’s the theory. My writing ranges from bizarre to tame and tasteful to raunchy depending on what my emotions are at the time so i don’t know what any of us will get out of this.

Once upon a time there was a snail with big black teeth. He had many teeth, but the two that really stood out were the fangs right at the front of his mouth: one on the bottom and the other at the top. These fangs barely had room beside each other and scraped together whenever the snail opened his mouth the little bit that he could. Venom dripped off of the tips and onto the ground as the teeth curved enough to stick out rather prominently.

I was the snails keeper. He had to be bottle fed and have his wounds tended to whenever he slithered across too much of his venom and it burned against his skin. I was the one who spoke to him and wiped his eyes when they became crusted with orange gunk, like old apricot jam and I was the one who spent endless hours on his grotto and the suits that he had to wear. Trying to keep a tie that wouldn’t get damaged was no easy task. The pixies kept on stealing them, I would swear to it, and mostly I had to order bulk polyester.

The ties were often too garish for my sensibilities, but the salesmen that passed by took advantage. Everyone took advantage. The pixies, the elf, even the snail though he couldn’t help it.

All of these years I’ve been doing this. Marriage didn’t even protect me. If only I had been a first born. All it took was one walk in the woods and I was finished, doomed.

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About theprincessandthestrawberrysnail

Hey, I tell stories. I was part of a rp site for a little while. I'm interesting in a crazy, wild-eyed sort of way. I'm capable of looking in the mirror and scaring myself. My stuff is interesting and my dreams are vivid.
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