The Bull

End Times

Shen MacKenzie, CEO

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So beautiful, the soft white skin. The body temp of 98 degrees. The warm, dark crevasses I call home. I remember prancing along the scalp as a young hatchling and knowing this would be my home forever. The small delicious flakes of dead skin, and the strong roots to hold onto in event of an earthquake. Three generations of my family had lived and died in this very scalp, and looked forward to continuing the legacy.
That was until one morning.
It was 8 am, and our host was due to wake soon. He was colder than usual, but he forgot to close the window before bed so it wasn’t out of the ordinary. That was until 9am and he still didn’t wake. This was highly unusual. As we scurried around the scalp trying to see what was wrong his daughter walked in and began to shake him. She shook and shook as we held onto the firm roots. Her tears made his shirt wet, and by the time she left the scalp was in a panic. Families were crying, and delta force was sent to attempt a recesitation . They returned with a weary look, and many began to evacuate. This was the end times my cousin told me as he slid down a hair follicle to his uncertain future.

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