Never DeadNever DeadNever Dead
My name is Victor. I’m lying in a coffin, pretending I’m dead.
I’m over 250 years old.
I’ve been in this coffin, supposedly dead and buried for two weeks. I don’t need air, food, or water. All’s I need is death.
For 250 years I’ve cheated death, and not because of a lack of opportunity either. I’ve been stabbed, shot, hung, impaled, burned, crushed, stoned, and even crucified. Nothing has worked.
Am I lonely? I was never a very social person to begin with; in fact in the beginning I just wanted people to leave me alone. So I could live my life in relative peace. Now I
Typically FantasticTypically FantasticTypically Fantastic
As usual, the giant was late with the rent. “Ah’ll grind ye bones to make me bread!” He yelled, quite clearly upset and hurt that anyone would ever accuse him of trying to skip out on his share of the monthly payments his landlord demanded.
Oz sighed; it was like this every single month, he would go to the giant’s room to collect the rent. The giant claimed he had already paid, and then would threaten Oz’s life when Oz quite clearly pointed out he had not paid.
“…Ah’ll make a soup of your blood and marrow!” The giant’s name was Connor, and he was
Poor Victor
