Main attack, first person.
I leaned next to him, looking out the window at the moon that had most of its flesh cut off, and the edges were incomplete, making it difficult to fall asleep. It seems that I am still drunk, but I feel that I have never been more sober than now. I fell into a long memory, and pictures and paragraphs of text flashed back in my mind. Cut off roots and guns. I chewed these four words over and over again until I could taste them. Nothing could be more boring, I thought. In the castration, in the sound of gunfire, I had a sweet dream.
A dream full of flowers.
The forgotten text that was dug up on the computer, a product of 23 years ago, now seems to be the source of inspiration for "phallus".
Junk text, for archiving only.
Purpose: I no longer have a reason, my story is complete.
