Children are rancid.

Yesterday, at four pm I sat in the perked, plush chair in front of fifteen rancid-smelling, aggravating, seven year olds while they notified me of their favorite carbohydrate-filled maltose-stuffed treats.

At four-o-five pm, I heaved my stiffly bruised body from my perked plush chair and pushed past the rancid-smelling, aggravating children to run in relentless loops around the lumpy royal mismatched-mats in order to warm these children and make their vile little bodies sweat and stink even more than they already did.

At four ten pm, I lead them into stretches that practically busted my bent wrists, children at age seven are undoubtedly, unhealthily flexible, so they were fantastically fine. Their arms bent at atrocious angles and necks looked as if they would disconnect from undersized sockets.

At four twelve pm, they took two minutes to compose themselves then they returned to dart psychotically around the lumpy, mismatched mats before I heightened my voice until it was roaring and yelled at them to sit still.

At four twenty two pm, I split them into short-lived groups. Their putrid smell curled and climbed its way like air up into my nostrils where it invaded my senses and stole my sight for a few fleeting seconds. I managed to draw some air into my rotting carcass of a body before their nauseating smell asphyxiated me right in front of their beady little eyes.

At four thirty seven pm, I repeated the actions of kneading my hands into my eye sockets and against my temples trying to omit the harmonies of screeching children and attempting to obliterate the engulfing feeling of homicidal chaos that was brewing within my enraged gut.

At four forty four pm, the imp that smelled most rancid of them all began spilling drops of malodorous waste from her lifeless eyes, the retch she had just done had caused an amount of acidic garbage to settle in her mouth, it reeked the smell of stomachs. I folded her mosquito-like body and shoved her over to the cliff of the lump mat, where she then sat like a pile of mephitic dog feces that had been left to boil and bake in an oven that hadn’t been cleaned in thirty-five years.

At four fifty eight pm, I minded as the children snapped their gaunt limbs and wailed and whined about the harrowing pain they were in. I let out a malicious chuckle and counted the seconds while they whimpered and cried tears of garbage.

At Five pm I said goodbye to the rancid-garbage children and left until the next Thursday at four pm when I would hear them howl with cries of murder and joy as they pulled on my own limbs and dragged me back down to their hold inside the earth to consume me.

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