There comes a time in every person's life where one must consider the importance of survival. Every twist and every turn that you make may be your last. People forget just how fragile life is. They take their experiences for granted and wonder why they have regrets. They'll poke and prod at their exsistance until one day, they just snap. Many of times, they forget to have fun and about what the beauty in life can bring. I for one have come forth to share a tale in which how I have survived my own personal trip through Hell. My name is Raggedy, and I come here to The Carnival of Doom to share my side of the story. 
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There comes a time in every person's life where one must consider the importance of survival. Every twist and every turn that you make may be your last. People forget just how fragile life is. They take their experiences for granted and wonder why they have regrets. They'll poke and prod at their exsistance until one day, they just snap. Many of times, they forget to have fun and about what the beauty in life can bring. I for one have come forth to share a tale in which how I have survived my own personal trip through Hell. My name is Raggedy, and I come here to The Carnival of Doom to share my side of the story.
It all started back in the thirties when I found myself wondering the streets in search of the perfect enterprise. At the time, I was homeless. I had no place to live apart from an old, busted down toolshed located on the outskirts of a local slaughterhouse. When I would sleep, my bedding consisted of left over sawdust which I swept together into a grit-filled mattress. Long, cold, lonely nights left me burning all of my midnight oil into an abyss of desperation and loony toony insanity.
I used to work at that slaughterhouse before they decided to fire me. My ex boss, Herman, told me that I was the best gutter around. One sunny day, a co-worker named Smitley got on my last nerve ending. I snapped, and in return snapped his neck. Afterwords, I gutted him. I never gutted a human before. Cows were easy. They just kind of moo and don't know what to do. But with these humans, they kick and they scream. They want to go crazy. But I was holding him down and making him frown. I gutted him alive and took his very life. That day was the last day that I would ever set foot into that slaughterhouse.
After the Smitley incident, I had to go and find myself another job. There were no opportunities near my toolshed. I was forced out of my house and home to move down south. To support my habits, I sold hot boiled peanuts on the roadside to the local town's folk. The aroma of stale nuts and burnt shells would fill the air everyday at five o'clock sharp, not to mention fill my iorn lungs with pride and victory. I made a killing at my hot boiled peanut stand, literally. Don't believe me? Ask Little Lulu. She was far too close to that boiling grease pan that day. Needless to say, that job didn't work out too well. The towns folk would forever brand me as the Peanut Killer, and I had out lived my welcomed stay on the roadside.
Once again, I was out on my own dragging my limbs behind me. The slaughterhouse didn't want me, and neither did the town's folk. I was lost and alone with no place to go. I started trucking down Rout 666 and passed a chicken coop along the way. I noticed one chicken pecking his little pecker head outside of the wire fencing. He looked at me, and made one cluck. Right then, I knew he was mine. That free range chicken would forever became my loyal companion.
We walked and walked and clucked and.....well..... I don't think I'm liable to say that part. Just when we were about out of breath, stumbling half dead through a cornfield, in the distance, I saw a giant light in the sky. It was circular and had orange carts dangling off of it. At that moment, I swear that I could once again hear the cries of the slaughterhouse animals and could smell that sweet aroma of hot boiled peanuts. I took my chicken by the throat and ran as fast as I could towords the familiar sights and sounds of home.
My chicken and I tripped and fell into a place called The Carnival of Doom. My eyes gazed upon the Ticket booth sign. Those words would be forever implanted into my head. Welcome to The Carnival of Doom - The Last Ride of Your Life. I said to myself, I said, "Self! If this is going to be my last ride, I might as well stay awhile and enjoy it."
Just when I thought it was far time to take a deep breath of relief, one of those big orange carts fell off and smacked me dead center into the side of my skull. I died, and went to Hell. I got a free balloon, and it made this trip all worth the while.- Real World Home Location
- United States of America
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- RaggedyMortis Haystack
- First rezzed
- 06/27/2008
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