The Conjoined
Filed under:nanofiction,writing,Rob Andrews
When the Conjoined entered the world, they arrived a bloody terrible mess, killing their mother during childbirth. Triplets, joined at the head. An ugly human starfish. Spokes for a wheel that didn't exist. X-Rays showed that they shared a brain cluster and ruled out seperating them. A more careful examination of the scans showed that there was a supernova explosion of minuturature brains inside their head. Dormant, some dead. Their mother had obviously used an unaproved drug to up her fertilization. Lacking family, they were put up for adoption.
The head of the orphanage, a curved backed turtle of a man, was William Zeus. He would stare at the triplets and get headaches. He was't sure if it was the stress of wanting to rid them or their grotesque anatomy. They languished in the orphinage, kept away from the rest of the children. They were considered damaged goods. Prospective parents wanted to see smiling youngsters. Blonde hair and doe eyes. The Conjoined were a hard sell. Their mal-developed brains retarted their learning process. They couldn't control their bowels and constantly smelled like piss and shit. They were the mangy dogs at the pound. Ugly and unmanagable. They didn't do much for the orphinage's reputation. The headaches got worse. He started to wake up with nose bleeds.
Years passed and Zeus had no luck. He knew from experience that as children got older, it would be more difficult to have them adopted. He had a small advantage, though. The Conjoined didn't seem to age. They remained a snapshot of an unfinished abortion. The headaches were the deciding factor to get rid of the triplettes. He gave the triplettes away to an unscrupulous pornographer. He killed himself soon after.
The Conjoined were a hit on the gonzo porn scene. Internet traffic was swift and bountiful. They made millionaires of the pornomancer. Two girls and boy? They were an automatic threesome by themselves. The Conjoined were incredibly an incredible influence on the skin industry, although they probably weren't aware of it. Freaks became the buzz word among producers. A well hung midget ended up becoming a pop icon because of the trend. The holiday didn't last forever. Performers began to complain that the triplettes were giving them headaches. The complaints were silenced with pay raises. If they lived longer, they would have died of tumours.
Puberty changed everything. Everyone knew about the Conjoined then. Their hormone soup bubbled over and the mini-brains acheived conciousness. There was a physic shockwave and everone in the surrounding states died, their brains filled with imagry of bizzare gang bangs and forced fellatio. This was the Conjoined second birth. Their placenta, an army of bodies sent to kill them. They floated around the world, bouyed by the thoughts and dreams of those they murdered. A force of nature, an angel of death. Four horsemen turned three. They couldn't be stopped
When the Conjoined entered the world, they arrived a bloody terrible mess, killing their mother during childbirth. Triplets, joined at the head. An ugly human starfish. Spokes for a wheel that didn't exist. X-Rays showed that they shared a brain cluster and ruled out seperating them. A more careful examination of the scans showed that there was a supernova explosion of minuturature brains inside their head. Dormant, some dead. Their mother had obviously used an unaproved drug to up her fertilization. Lacking family, they were put up for adoption.
The head of the orphanage, a curved backed turtle of a man, was William Zeus. He would stare at the triplets and get headaches. He was't sure if it was the stress of wanting to rid them or their grotesque anatomy. They languished in the orphinage, kept away from the rest of the children. They were considered damaged goods. Prospective parents wanted to see smiling youngsters. Blonde hair and doe eyes. The Conjoined were a hard sell. Their mal-developed brains retarted their learning process. They couldn't control their bowels and constantly smelled like piss and shit. They were the mangy dogs at the pound. Ugly and unmanagable. They didn't do much for the orphinage's reputation. The headaches got worse. He started to wake up with nose bleeds.
Years passed and Zeus had no luck. He knew from experience that as children got older, it would be more difficult to have them adopted. He had a small advantage, though. The Conjoined didn't seem to age. They remained a snapshot of an unfinished abortion. The headaches were the deciding factor to get rid of the triplettes. He gave the triplettes away to an unscrupulous pornographer. He killed himself soon after.
The Conjoined were a hit on the gonzo porn scene. Internet traffic was swift and bountiful. They made millionaires of the pornomancer. Two girls and boy? They were an automatic threesome by themselves. The Conjoined were incredibly an incredible influence on the skin industry, although they probably weren't aware of it. Freaks became the buzz word among producers. A well hung midget ended up becoming a pop icon because of the trend. The holiday didn't last forever. Performers began to complain that the triplettes were giving them headaches. The complaints were silenced with pay raises. If they lived longer, they would have died of tumours.
Puberty changed everything. Everyone knew about the Conjoined then. Their hormone soup bubbled over and the mini-brains acheived conciousness. There was a physic shockwave and everone in the surrounding states died, their brains filled with imagry of bizzare gang bangs and forced fellatio. This was the Conjoined second birth. Their placenta, an army of bodies sent to kill them. They floated around the world, bouyed by the thoughts and dreams of those they murdered. A force of nature, an angel of death. Four horsemen turned three. They couldn't be stopped
posted by Rob at 10:22 p.m.
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