Yes Make The Small Child Touch The Dead Skin

May 1st, 2009 | brainjuice, professional, researchmaterial

"Oooh. Is a baby efflant. What happened to it?"

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The baby wanders toward the water. She stumbles on the slippery riverbank and slides into a slurry of clay, sand, and fresh snowmelt. She struggles to free herself, but every movement drags her deeper. The mud gets in her mouth, her trunk, her eyes; disoriented, she gasps for breath but gets a mouthful of muck instead. Coughing, gagging, caught in a riptide of panic, she makes a dreadful high-pitched shriek that brings her mother running. Inhaling with all her force, the calf sucks the mud deep into her trachea, sealing her lungs. By the time her mother reaches the bank, the baby is partially submerged in the ice-cold mire and flailing feebly, rapidly sliding into shock. The mother screams and mills on the soft bank

"AAAAAAAAA"

TOUCH THE FUCKING ELEPHANT

"AAAAAA NO DON’T MAKE ME AAAAAAA MUMMY"

I AM YOUR FUCKING MUMMY TOUCH THE FUCKING ELEPHANT