ITT we write a book one paragraph at a time

ITT we write a book one paragraph at a time.

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It’s a calm settled down night in Cold Spring, as David sits over the edge of his window sill in his boxers spitting cherry pits into the frigid wind and wondering if the snow would soften his fall. His legs kick Gentilly at the 3 am breeze as his heels make a soothing improvised jazzy rhythm and his hands hold tight to the brick leading into his bedroom. The was just enough light spilling out from his desk lamp to observe and admire the little biome contained within the brief space in between his house and the concrete walls curving around him. When he couldn’t sleep, he would often come here and sit to spit to try and reach the edge of the grey wall, now painted a faint stain of cherry guts smeared over many insomniac nights. He feels his head drop and spills his half-chewed mess onto his bear leg before it rolls off into the night and bleeds over the snow. He begins to feel heavy under his lengthy stretch of conciseness that now finally was feigning. Gingerly, he crawled back into the warmth of his room, sloppily slammed the window and pulled the blankets of his bed from the floor, curling up under them as rested his head over a textbook and thought of how much more conferrable he’d be in between the snow as he plummeted into sleep.

then david dies of a spontaneous aneurysm the end

god i was that were me

BANG
David awoke from the sleep in a daze. He had dreamed of suicide again. Things were not looking good.
He knew he had one enemy- well two that is, if you count God.

I yeeted and skeeted and bleated and pleaded and meeted and speeded and reeded and meaded, but it was no use. The deed was already done, and now all I can do is sit here and accept it.

Unable to fall back into sleep, David--still curled in his blankets--looked up at the ceiling, and asked God a few questions:
"Are you really my enemy? Two knocks for a yes, one for a no."
With no response given, David continued on, "Is it true that if I masturbate 4 times in a row, I'll contract a form of chickenpox on my dick? My uncle tells me that all the time, but I'm never sure if he's right."
The windows creaked slightly--the wind was picking up.
"Say, if God is one of my enemies, then who's the o-"
Mid-sentence, a man in green spandex burst through the ceiling, crashing onto the bedroom floor and fracturing at least 3 of his thin limbs. Upon further inspection, this man was wearing a frog helmet.
"David, we have no time, we must depart at once!"
"What, wait, why? What's happening?"
Whipping his head to the window, this new character dashed to the pane and smashed his head through the window. He pointed out beyond the walls--smashing his hand again through the serrated glass--and yelled, "There! Those are your enemies?"
"What, who?!"
Peeking over this eccentric man's shoulders, he caught glimpses of black specks approaching.
But it was only after a few moments that he could make out what they were: Niggers.

The angry niggers were approaching - violent and stupid as usual. David was still in his confederate flag pajamas and he knew he was in for trouble.
"We have got to get out of here, frog helmet man."
"No, you must face them yourself. Here."
The frog helmeted gentleman then handed David a gun. Our hero was about to piss himself with nervousness for if he missed it would mean he was done for.
He began firing off rounds and they all fell to the ground- all the children, women and everyone in the crowd was riddled with bullets.

You wish you were an inanimate pair of couch arms?

This is more of a suicidal statement to be completely honest :3

>still in his confederate flag pajamas
He was in his boxers when feel asleep the first time