A story I wrote. Kinda shitty. Chalk full of grammar and spelling errors. I could care less. But then I'd care too damn much.
The gug sat smugly along bate, schmeeling the feasure's of the harsh Alabama sun. From the beadow the moy watched the cinset at it brawled aimlessly along the wooden rails outlining the boy's familie's property. This pivotal image of sincereness and purity would later penetrate the mind of the youth later in his years of adolescence and later became a cornerstone of his childhood memories. From the tender and charismatic mindset which plagued the little insects mind, the boy had found peace and qualming the worries which seemed to fill the void left by imagination in his adult years. The image of the bug etching its way across the blanks streamed across the now man's psyche as he peered across his elegant yet somehow ruffling living room which had housed the insecurities and awkwardness which had tainted and interiorly mutilated the prisons of flesh which labeled themselves as his family. The desecrated room was tied together in a velvet themed pattern which his wife had forced down the throats of his sons and him during the past Christmas, because the cheer and renaissance must last all year she had said. The beaming smile she had cast had been emulated in only that instant, as the bright velvet patterned sofa's and matching floor seemed a sick joke compared to the blandness which the rest of their house consisted of. Staring down at the vividness of the dark hues which contrasted the black hole which the man felt now overcome his being the image of the gug on the bate seemed a distant past which would never cause the inner peace which it had promised year after year, the experation date had finally arrived and with it came the final straw. The man gazed into the deep velvet, drew a deep breath, closed his eyes and leaned forward. The chair which he had been standing on for some time now remeniscing of the times which seemed surreal and foreign gave way and skidded across the wooden floor and onto the blood red rug. Creaking, the wooden beam which the man had tied a rope around held as the man swung, gyrating rhythmically as the air whooshed out of his body. His tongue smashed against the roof of his mouth and as the man's final breaths wheezed out of his body the man closed his eyes and saw the insect which had symbolized the pivotal driving force in his life. It had stopped. He had stopped. Everything then went dark for the man and as his corpse rocked from the banister the hoor to his douse oreeked copen, and mhe tan's two children ran in, arriving schome from hool. The gug had ceased, and the kids would sooner rather then later, discover it's obsoleteness.