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The sun rose high in the sky and the wind was cold, yet gentle.
It was a good day for a hunt, and “The Horse” Darius seized the opportunity.
His graceful jet-black hair waved as he galloped across the everlasting fields in search of fresh cheese.
His nostrils picked up subtle hints of the promised dairy, and he ran even faster in excitement.
Soon, he will acquire the cheese and bring it back to his family, prompting a great, lasting feast that would satisfy his hungering calves for many moons.
But as he daydreamt, he came across something quite peculiar.
A straight path made of cement in the middle of the field stretched itself on for great distances, through and over the horizon.
But as he ran along it, the smell became stronger, and Darius knew this was the road to what he was looking for.
Yet, as he ran on it for hours, no end was in sight, though the smell of his treasured cheese was getting stronger.
Hours turned to days, and days turned into weeks.
The smell was overpowering, so strong that his nostrils went numb.
He could only cough and gasp and he dragged his withered body along the road, his fleshy entrails leaving behind wet spots on the pavement.
His lower half was no longer there - it was slowly damaged over time and was eventually ripped off when he stretched it too much, too fast.
“The Horse” Darius should not have been alive, but yet remained, only using his front legs to grotesquely crawl toward his prize, his goal, his endgame, his cheese.
Soon, there would be little left of Darius, only a weak presence slowly floating alongside the road for decades, and afterwards, nothing would remain.
“The Horse” Darius would be no more.
 
 
 
 

I will take you to clown park.
A place where a fun goes to laugh! All of it is concentrated funny, crazy, and wacky.
Clown rides where you're speeding through veins and arteries, clown candy with funny flavors, clowns at every turn to laugh and entertain!
After getting off the clown-themed ferris wheel you cut one of them open, and it turns out they are made out of the same stuff they use to make their cotton candy.
So you cut another one, and another one, and strangle one, and punch one until it dies. The rest of the clowns honk their little red noses and feast on the deceased.
Your killing spree continues until every inch has been covered with a dead clown, spilling their blue cotton candy flesh everywhere.
The survivors walk on all fours, bite and eat the dead clowns, all while growling like animals. Soon they will meet their end too. You take one clowns eyes, and turns out they taste like licorice.
The 30 remaining clowns all gather on you and attack until you are smothered by gloved hands, silly shoes, silly suits and clowns masks, a bloodlusted grin behind every one.
 
You are in the clown park. The park is a square room the width of a field and the height of a skyscraper. The floor is black.
2 clowns play tennis with an eyeball encased in glass. 3 clowns are in an eternal group hug. Another one is climbing the wall like a spider.
You take a passing clown, and penetrate his body with a fence bar lying next to you. It screams.
The floor turns a deep blue color. A phone rings in a clowns pocket, so it takes the phone and looks at the screen until it stops.
Clown laughter can be heard from the ceiling. More clowns are climbing the walls now. You punch a clown shaking and slithering on the floor and it deflates like a balloon.
An eye is replaced with a red nose. A detached hand crawls into the trash and whimpers. You are knocked unconscious for 30 minutes by a falling detached head.
You wake up, the air is clear. Tens of thousands of clowns are hanging from the ceiling and chanting a funny melody.
Your mouth moves on its own to replicate the song. A drop of spit falls on the ground beside you, then another one, then more.
You can't move a muscle. It's raining saliva and stomach acid.
 
There are a thousands cute little orbs of light in and around your head. A single blue strand of hair falls on your hand.
A gunshot is heard in the distance. A clown mask grows legs and arms and walks near your immobile body.
It crawls up your legs, up your stomach, up your chest. It's on your face. It's giving your head a tight hug.
The world is seen in 2 tiny holes. You are being strangled by a clown with X's instead of eyes.
A hundred of other, similar looking clowns join its quest to end your life as you slowly run out of air.
The rest are lying the floor, panting and showing toothy smiles while they are stepped on and trampled.
A blue blanket of infinite size falls on everyone and everything in the surrounding black. Clown laughing, clown wheezing, clown gagging.
You rip and tear at it with your nails and teeth until there's a hole.
Everything beneath your torso is entirely engulfed in the sea of fabric, and beneath, a frenzy of animalistic desire to kill and bite and eat.
You see a mountain of blue in the middle of the void. The blanket tears and rips to reveal a mountain of bodies in blue and yellow suits.
Hundred, thousand, million.
A small voice whispers you tales in the ancient language.
A giant lifeless hand drained of color comes out of the dark sky. Its finger touches the peak.
A melody resonates through the vast nothingness.
Clowns can laugh.
Clowns can't rot,
 
 
 
 

You walk home after a late night with friends, entirely focused on your phone while wandering the dark foggy streets.
You're browsing some app and chuckling at something, a bit tipsy from the meetup.
At some point, you feel a presence watching you from behind and turn around, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. At first, you see only fog.
You look around for a few seconds until you spot me.
I am standing with both my legs and arms spread out and looking directly at you without moving an inch. There is a hundred meters between us.
You wonder if you're hallucinating and blink, but that single moment of weakness is enough.
I instantly begin running at you at incredible speeds. You see me rapidly approaching and freeze with fear.
I stop running when I am right in front of you.
My face is mere inches from yours.
You start to sweat as I gaze into your soul.
This moment seems to last an eternity before I move again.
I slowly roll up your shirt and slap your belly with full force, creating a loud "BOING!" sound that slowly fades into awkward silence as we both maintain direct eye contain.
As soon as you are able to comprehend what happened, I casually turn around and walk in the opposite direction.
Not knowing what to do or how to react, you only stare at me as I move onward and eventually disappear into the night.
 
 
 
 

There is a dispersed conversation going on between a loosely knit group of people.
Every member of the group communicates with refined, proper pronunciation, manner, tone and character.
The traits that have been assigned to them, they follow to the smallest quirk.
They stay consistent in their speech and mannerisms, never tripping up.
If one, against all odds, were to stumble over a vowel or stutter on a consonant, they would play it off perfectly.
Everyone is perfectly feeling the flow of conversation between them, instantly sensing when it's time to pipe up with a question or a comment.
 
Another person joins the group.
A rare occasion, since that person is found to be quiet and quite rough in their expertise in the art of conversation.
They scoot over to the circle, and two other people move their seats in perfect unison and sit down, without flinching, shaking or under-performing their acts.
The person however, does no such thing.
They double-guess where the space for them would be opened, moving first to their left, then to the right, a crucial mistake.
They let out a small, whimpered fragment of what they almost thought out loud.
Awkward in their movement, they sit down among the circle.
They know they are slightly misaligned, but the figure to the right of them has begun spinning another intricately woven dialogue and moving would create a noise they know would interrupt the flow.
The person knows that the invisible eyes of everyone else are engulfing them.
Their body temperature increases and their entire torso begins itching.
The conversation continues.
A person at the direct opposite end of the circle taking in the flow of someone's speech and responding.
When they talk, it sounds agonizingly recited, as though they thought through every pronunciation, attenuating and adjusting their pitch to sound as 'perfect' as possible. And they are.
As they talk, they make slight eye contact with the awkwardly seated person opposite to them to subtly signal the next turn of the verbal river. As they finish off with a solid conclusion, they ask a question to the misfit.
Not picking up on the signals before but instead peeking around for the reactions of others, they don't instantly realize that they are assigned the role of the conversant.
They didn't fully get the gist of the question that has been asked, but asking would mean admitting that they weren't fully paying attention.
While the consequences of worsening the non-existent relationship between them and the figure directly in front of them wander their mind, the gazes of every single person are trained on them, intensifying.
Suddenly aware of this, the person stumbles for words, lost at what to say, how play it off or how to get out of this.
Their mind goes blank.
The amygdala, after deeply considering the options for approximately 500 milliseconds, chooses to freeze over.
 
The stares are burning through them.
Their body is melting into perfectly rigid lava, peaking through and over the boiling point.
They wish they could evaporate.
Perhaps the wind could then carry their miserable little cloud of vapor to condensate elsewhere.
But they can't run away on their own. In fact, they can't move a muscle.
5 cosmically stretched seconds of time pass before they can begin to control their legs.
Moving their charred log of a body, the person finds that focusing on the pain and searing in their heart numbs the feeling of eyes scorching their back.
The person is exhausted, reflected in their pace.
Yet they still think about the ash and coals their sluggish steps are leaving behind on the ground, and how much should they should gauge that to be an inconvenience to others.
They think about how this is gonna worsen or ruin the atmosphere and mood of the circle left behind.
They think about a few potential consequences and more.
Distant enough from the scene, they faint and fall over.
A fevered mind ceases for a moment.
They're not present to enjoy the silence.
 
 
 
 

For the past several decades, clowns have been a hotly-discussed topic in several fields of philosophy, prominently in nomology and metaphysics and have been a focal point of the ongoing debate between hard-determinism and libertarianism (p).
Through several studies spanning years each, it has been a hypothesis that clowns harbor a concept often conned in libertarianism know as the "unmoved mover" - something that is not affected by environment and does not follow the laws of hard determinism and "moves" on its own accord, therefore affecting everything around it.
If the deterministic model of a human psyche proclaims that its free will is in accordance to the infinitely complex chemical reaction that is the universe and only moves in reaction to the environment, then the theorized model of a clown is that its mind and thoughts aren't born in reaction to anything at all, or in other words, it is the only known being to bear 'true' free will in our world.