The Birth of Lemongrab by TheEarlofLemongrab, literature
Literature
The Birth of Lemongrab
I feel cold, weak. Lying on something hard and icy, my head resting on what feels like a stone. I can feel hands smoothing themselves ove my body, shaping me. I can feel the stuffy air on my skin.
Touching my face, something is added. I can smell now- smell the stench of rot and decay, waste. Something inside of me is sickened. I want nothing more than to slip back into nonexistence.
Cold liquid is poured onto my face. I can feel features forming, my skin stretching. All of a sudden, I can taste the air through thin lips, the taste of a sickly-sweet, spoiled world no sane person could ever accept.
Vision blurs to me, a