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It is often said that telling complete strangers about a terrible event in your past, can be therapeutic, though perhaps selfish. I know that I regularly post a lot of garbage and don’t take anything seriously but my humour is often employed as a defence mechanism, as I try to come to terms with my actions.
When I was four my best friend in the world was Danny. He was smaller than me and very quiet; so I was always very protective towards him and made sure that any games we played didn’t get too rough. One day we were playing hide and seek. Danny was excellent at this as he was able to hide in the smallest of nooks and crannies, in fact he was probably the best hide and seeker I’d ever met. Anyway after counting to 100 I went to seek him out, but Danny, unbeknown to me, had hidden himself in the large pot plant (a huge Spider leafy thing) in the lounge. I couldn’t find him anywhere and after an hour I started to get angry.
When he eventually allowed himself to be found I was furious and in a moment of madness I did it, I grabbed him and throttled him. I didn’t realise that he had stopped breathing, I couldn’t stop myself. I was terrified and exulted in equal measures, and if I was older I probably would have been sporting a hardon, such was the primal enjoyment I was experiencing. Mum’s piercing scream snapped be back into reality. I let go and watched in detached uninterested as the body fell to the floor. Mum kept on screaming, screaming and screaming “what have you done? What have you done, he’s only small!”
Danny was two years old.
I had counselling and was briefly taken into care, as they weren’t convinced that I wasn’t about to do the same thing to another poor wretched soul. I’m told, not that I remember, I used to laugh about what I had done and the psychiatrist had to be restrained by passing staff in the hospital once. I must have been evil.
I wrote a poem to get me through:
“Danny’s gone, a gone away, he’s dead,
Never again a smile to form upon his head,
His future gone before it could be read”.
When I returned home, the atmosphere in the house was muted and my parents weren’t talking to me anymore. I got scornful looks from them if I spoke and so I too became silent. One day mum sat me down and asked me why I did it. I told her and she said she didn’t understand. I insisted that I was sorry and explained how much I missed the fact that I was never going to be able to hold Danny on my arms again. She laughed a bitter laugh and said
“He’s gone, gone forever because of you. Stick insects don’t grow on trees you know”
They don’t grow on trees.
When I was four my best friend in the world was Danny. He was smaller than me and very quiet; so I was always very protective towards him and made sure that any games we played didn’t get too rough. One day we were playing hide and seek. Danny was excellent at this as he was able to hide in the smallest of nooks and crannies, in fact he was probably the best hide and seeker I’d ever met. Anyway after counting to 100 I went to seek him out, but Danny, unbeknown to me, had hidden himself in the large pot plant (a huge Spider leafy thing) in the lounge. I couldn’t find him anywhere and after an hour I started to get angry.
When he eventually allowed himself to be found I was furious and in a moment of madness I did it, I grabbed him and throttled him. I didn’t realise that he had stopped breathing, I couldn’t stop myself. I was terrified and exulted in equal measures, and if I was older I probably would have been sporting a hardon, such was the primal enjoyment I was experiencing. Mum’s piercing scream snapped be back into reality. I let go and watched in detached uninterested as the body fell to the floor. Mum kept on screaming, screaming and screaming “what have you done? What have you done, he’s only small!”
Danny was two years old.
I had counselling and was briefly taken into care, as they weren’t convinced that I wasn’t about to do the same thing to another poor wretched soul. I’m told, not that I remember, I used to laugh about what I had done and the psychiatrist had to be restrained by passing staff in the hospital once. I must have been evil.
I wrote a poem to get me through:
“Danny’s gone, a gone away, he’s dead,
Never again a smile to form upon his head,
His future gone before it could be read”.
When I returned home, the atmosphere in the house was muted and my parents weren’t talking to me anymore. I got scornful looks from them if I spoke and so I too became silent. One day mum sat me down and asked me why I did it. I told her and she said she didn’t understand. I insisted that I was sorry and explained how much I missed the fact that I was never going to be able to hold Danny on my arms again. She laughed a bitter laugh and said
“He’s gone, gone forever because of you. Stick insects don’t grow on trees you know”
They don’t grow on trees.
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You aren't being serious are you?
If so, I'm sorry
if not..this piece of writing was brilliant.
If so, I'm sorry
if not..this piece of writing was brilliant.
I read this a while but didn't reply. Mainly because I wasn't sure if you were being serious or not. Because I'm an idiot.
Brilliant, though.
Brilliant, though.
Me.
*goes off to work on lying skills*
*goes off to work on lying skills*
So you've killed someone, BIG DEAL, who can honestly say they haven't eh?
LOL
monkey_man wrote:
> Did your poem become The Bivan's first number one hit, entitled
> "Danny the Stick-Insect"?
"Oh Danny stick, the twigs the twigs are calling"...
Us Bivans also do a lot of charity work and once did a gig in a burns unit, trying to raise money for a fire alarm system. This was to be installed in the dilapidated hospital in one of them there foreign countries. Although there were language barriers, our melodies where well received. Unfortunatley though the waving of lighters to the above song, set fire to the straw roof and burnt the hospital down. We are still trying to raise enough money to buy a fire station, so we can ring the them and get them to put the fire out.
Any money is to be sent to: The Bivan fund for putting out that there fire in that there foreign country y'all.
I think the country is called Utah.
> Did your poem become The Bivan's first number one hit, entitled
> "Danny the Stick-Insect"?
"Oh Danny stick, the twigs the twigs are calling"...
Us Bivans also do a lot of charity work and once did a gig in a burns unit, trying to raise money for a fire alarm system. This was to be installed in the dilapidated hospital in one of them there foreign countries. Although there were language barriers, our melodies where well received. Unfortunatley though the waving of lighters to the above song, set fire to the straw roof and burnt the hospital down. We are still trying to raise enough money to buy a fire station, so we can ring the them and get them to put the fire out.
Any money is to be sent to: The Bivan fund for putting out that there fire in that there foreign country y'all.
I think the country is called Utah.
Did your poem become The Bivan's first number one hit, entitled "Danny the Stick-Insect"?
I dont get it.
It is often said that telling complete strangers about a terrible event in your past, can be therapeutic, though perhaps selfish. I know that I regularly post a lot of garbage and don’t take anything seriously but my humour is often employed as a defence mechanism, as I try to come to terms with my actions.
When I was four my best friend in the world was Danny. He was smaller than me and very quiet; so I was always very protective towards him and made sure that any games we played didn’t get too rough. One day we were playing hide and seek. Danny was excellent at this as he was able to hide in the smallest of nooks and crannies, in fact he was probably the best hide and seeker I’d ever met. Anyway after counting to 100 I went to seek him out, but Danny, unbeknown to me, had hidden himself in the large pot plant (a huge Spider leafy thing) in the lounge. I couldn’t find him anywhere and after an hour I started to get angry.
When he eventually allowed himself to be found I was furious and in a moment of madness I did it, I grabbed him and throttled him. I didn’t realise that he had stopped breathing, I couldn’t stop myself. I was terrified and exulted in equal measures, and if I was older I probably would have been sporting a hardon, such was the primal enjoyment I was experiencing. Mum’s piercing scream snapped be back into reality. I let go and watched in detached uninterested as the body fell to the floor. Mum kept on screaming, screaming and screaming “what have you done? What have you done, he’s only small!”
Danny was two years old.
I had counselling and was briefly taken into care, as they weren’t convinced that I wasn’t about to do the same thing to another poor wretched soul. I’m told, not that I remember, I used to laugh about what I had done and the psychiatrist had to be restrained by passing staff in the hospital once. I must have been evil.
I wrote a poem to get me through:
“Danny’s gone, a gone away, he’s dead,
Never again a smile to form upon his head,
His future gone before it could be read”.
When I returned home, the atmosphere in the house was muted and my parents weren’t talking to me anymore. I got scornful looks from them if I spoke and so I too became silent. One day mum sat me down and asked me why I did it. I told her and she said she didn’t understand. I insisted that I was sorry and explained how much I missed the fact that I was never going to be able to hold Danny on my arms again. She laughed a bitter laugh and said
“He’s gone, gone forever because of you. Stick insects don’t grow on trees you know”
They don’t grow on trees.
When I was four my best friend in the world was Danny. He was smaller than me and very quiet; so I was always very protective towards him and made sure that any games we played didn’t get too rough. One day we were playing hide and seek. Danny was excellent at this as he was able to hide in the smallest of nooks and crannies, in fact he was probably the best hide and seeker I’d ever met. Anyway after counting to 100 I went to seek him out, but Danny, unbeknown to me, had hidden himself in the large pot plant (a huge Spider leafy thing) in the lounge. I couldn’t find him anywhere and after an hour I started to get angry.
When he eventually allowed himself to be found I was furious and in a moment of madness I did it, I grabbed him and throttled him. I didn’t realise that he had stopped breathing, I couldn’t stop myself. I was terrified and exulted in equal measures, and if I was older I probably would have been sporting a hardon, such was the primal enjoyment I was experiencing. Mum’s piercing scream snapped be back into reality. I let go and watched in detached uninterested as the body fell to the floor. Mum kept on screaming, screaming and screaming “what have you done? What have you done, he’s only small!”
Danny was two years old.
I had counselling and was briefly taken into care, as they weren’t convinced that I wasn’t about to do the same thing to another poor wretched soul. I’m told, not that I remember, I used to laugh about what I had done and the psychiatrist had to be restrained by passing staff in the hospital once. I must have been evil.
I wrote a poem to get me through:
“Danny’s gone, a gone away, he’s dead,
Never again a smile to form upon his head,
His future gone before it could be read”.
When I returned home, the atmosphere in the house was muted and my parents weren’t talking to me anymore. I got scornful looks from them if I spoke and so I too became silent. One day mum sat me down and asked me why I did it. I told her and she said she didn’t understand. I insisted that I was sorry and explained how much I missed the fact that I was never going to be able to hold Danny on my arms again. She laughed a bitter laugh and said
“He’s gone, gone forever because of you. Stick insects don’t grow on trees you know”
They don’t grow on trees.
Page: