Melissa AKA "Mudd Butt"

name: Melissa AKA "Mudd Butt"
age: 23 roman calendar years
height: 5'7"
eyes: doo doo brown
turn ons: facial hair, rhythm
turn offs: blogging, bad grammar
hobbies/interests: war documentaries, quiet introspection, writing angry letters to the government under the bare bulb in my basement
last words: during the summer of the 1,969th year after the persecution of christ; on the southeastern tip of the asian continent; in a nation called vietnam; my infantry made its way towards our camp through a dry, lifeless expanse of shrubbery that had once surely been a fertile rice field but was now littered with shrapnel, shell casings, barbed wire, and other paraphanalia of strife. each of our footsteps was ginger and solemn, as we were well aware of the mines planted beneath the arid soil. heads bowed, we made steady progress in a linear formation. with every decisive stride, we were born again; pressed into existence against the thick fog by the labor of fate, nurtured in her womb during those few seconds of gestation between paces, then delivered with each foot's landing. each new step marked a new beginning; if we were still standing, we had been spared. we were given a new set of chances, new eyes and new souls to regard our dire strait, fresh breath and a more cautious hand to wipe the sweat, rich as uteran lining, off our brows and carry on. and we did, armed with hope. the sun and moon were trading places in the amber-salmon sky. for one moment, it seemed too still. this was the sign. the sound was so profound it consumed my senses. for its entire duration, i felt nothing, saw nothing, smelled nothing, had no tongue. for an instant i was sealed in its vacuum, my spine curved under its weight. it blanketed the horizon with a totality that mocked silence. the next time i could blink i found myself in another place, not far from where i had just stood, but no longer governed by the familiar laws of the physical world. i struggled to orient myself in this new dimension. my nerves betrayed their memory. my body told me i was hanging upside-down under water, spinning in circles; but i was standing. and i was not the only one. those of us that did not loose our sight or hearing from the blast stood around his severed torso, tethered to our places by fear. we marveled at his consciousness and coherency. the steady gaze of his heavy-hooded eyes completed an expression that made him seem wise. perhaps he felt this way, for the great mystery that propels our every instinct, impulse, and passion had been solved for him: this is how it would happen, this was his moment. his mouth moved, omitting a series of strange sounds at first, until he broke into song. "sunroof top, diamond in the back, diggin the scene with a gangsta lean, mmm mmmm." so he bled into the earth, sank furthur into the elements from which he was birthed, and although we knew the words, by the time his expression changed to one of steely condemnation, we had done nothing, said nothing. we still had hope strapped to our chests, we waited for the air to initiate some change. he levelled our longing with his final words: "FUCK! somebody DO SOMETHING, even if it's wrong!"

do something, even if it's wrong.