Balls of Hate

Have I mentioned how much I hate dust?
Here let me reiterate: I fucking hate dust.

If I were a prodigal scientist, I’d dedicate my life to the eradication of dust.

Yes, eradication.
Not removal, not prevention, not the-clumping-together-for-easier-disposal.
No.
Eradication.

I’d biologically engineer minute physical bodies bristling with nerve systems and implant the dust particles into them. I’d grant them self-awareness and let them populate tiny dust villages. Then I’d submit them to the greatest horrors of torture that no sentient being should ever bear witness to.

I’d kill the male and female dust particles in front of their dust babies, and then slowly slaughter the dust babies too.

I’d pollute and ravage their little village environment so viciously that the few survivors would be forced to the most brutal acts of cannibalism to remain pitifully alive.

Then when all is done, the last dust-particle-symbiote, if it hasn’t succumbed to the swirling depths of insanity, will be cast into a vacuum space where it would watch the recorded scenes of it’s species’ decimation on loop over and over again until time collapses upon itself and all life and realms of existence cease to be.

I haet dust.

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