Lisa Whittington's Blog

Pretty as a Swatstika

Lisa Whittington — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 23:54:36 +0000

She was born a small sickly girl. She had no disorders or diseases, but being born of mean, ignorant parents- she was sought as ugly. There was nothing initially wrong with her, but once taken out of the womb, her parent’s only saw the pink, wrinkly, slimy newborn worm. She probably could have been the most beautiful girl in the world, but even when she outgrew her “worm-like” appearance, her parent’s were still not willing to admit their mistake. So she was locked in the downstairs basement for her whole life. Her parents did feed her, they weren’t that cruel, and it was usually leftover scraps of whatever they had eaten for dinner that night. Soon, they slowly began to stop feeding her, so she resorted to eating and picking at whatever rodents scurried in the basement, such as rats, possums, and small mice. Since she was told her entire life that she was nothing more than a vile disease, eating these rodents didn’t seem to faze her. She spent most nights laying on the concrete floor listening to the conversations that went on upstairs. She could hear her mom, dad, relatives, and friends of the family; she knew she would never meet. By age 10, she was able to adapt fully and grow in her own world of isolated-social norms and self adapted non-conformity. By age 13, practically blind, she fit the image and became proof to be that frail, wrinkly, and weak worm that her parents had always seen her to be. By age 15, she collapsed and died a slow and painful death. Malnurished and weak. Her internal organs had either given up, died, or grew ulcers witch caused her insides to bleed and her heart to stop. Her torture finally ended. Nobody ever knew she existed. She died innocently by the inhumane torture brought on by her prejudiced parents

she could only get so thin...

Cannibal’s Chicken Noodle Soup

Lisa Whittington — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 01:46:35 +0000

father brings the meat
and mother cooks the meal
uncle bury’s the dead
while sister waits to be fed.
using whatever skin is left,
grandmother sews a quilt with the victum’s flesh.
and brother is sad because he doesn’t have a single shirt to wear today
so i told him we could gut open a rabbit and he could wear the remains

Beaver Meat Cleaver

Lisa Whittington — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 01:43:42 +0000

slaughter.

smile.

slaughter.

please dont scream, please don’t shout

Mr. Dahmer would have been very proud.

i know that this is a gruesome sight.

i just cant help it, it was love at first bite.

i promise i’ll bury you in the floorboards beneath, just to make sure you wont ever leave.

i want you to know that my love for you is here to stay

FOREVER- my love, happy Valentine’s Day

Mr. Heller’s Rejection Letter -.-

Lisa Whittington — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 01:17:23 +0000

it was a warm thursday afternoon, and i was in my R.O.P class minding my own business. i was intentionally filling out an application for In-and-Out, a wonderful and delicious fast food place where all edible, nutritional needs are met. Little did i know that my R.O.P teacher, Mr. Mike Heller was standing right behind me…. watching… waiting. he lurked behind and studied the screen. a drop of rage-filled sweat dropped off his brow as he watched me do something else instead of the assignment i was ordered to do. i still had no idea that he was behind me waiting for the perfect moment to attack all the hard work i had been fighting to finish in time. then- there it was, his perfect moment. i was on the last section of my application, and right as i was about to take control of the mouse and move my pointer to the “submit” button, mike placed his hands on the two buttons that i knew would ruin my life forever. as his thumb hit “ALT” so many thoughts came to mind; “i’m never gonna get a job!”, “i wont be able to make money to live!”, “i’ll be homeless!!!” i knew that this was the end, because Mike, still with his thumb on the “ALT” button, still held firm, and with his index finger, in what i can only describe as a slow-motion moment in my life, simply pressed “F4″ and closed my application. “this was the end!!!” i thought. Mike laughed manically to himself as he walked away.

When these were pressed... my whole world exploded

Intensity in Ten Cities

Lisa Whittington — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 08:27:28 +0000

There never once was a child named Gimble. They say his fingers were the size of thimbles. He lived in a small house in the city, with a small room and an autistic stray kitty. Everything his aunt and uncle said was a lie, because Gimble knew his parents had died.

Gimble's autistic stray kitty

Sunbeams And Some Beans

Lisa Whittington — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 08:27:03 +0000

once in a town of misery and make-believe, there lived a tiny man named Saul Dupree. Saul was simple, kind and well-to-do. living in big red oak, he only read, and hardly spoke. living in this forrest tree wasn’t nearly the greatest experience he thought it’d be, but at least the rent was free. around the time of dark-thirty past eight, Saul left his super happy tree in search of a mate. crossing the streets of depression and gore, he met a small women near the cities’s toy store. this women was small, and bruised, and covered in wounds, and Saul sought her perfect as “something to do.” He walked up to her and asked her to stay, she said “no”, so he killed her and went on his way

saul dupree