Not-so-55 fiction! :)

Boy on a mission:
It was red, but darker than he expected and…srickier. It didn’t gush, to his slight disappointmentm, but trickled rather, in monotonous, rhythmic drops, muffled by the carpet-his accomplice! There was a smell too, rusty and warm- if one could smell temperature, and sickly sweet. A small triumphant smile crept up, lopsided. Wait. It wouldn’t do to get complacent now. He still had to set the jell-o in the fridge.

This fallen world:
The light ( or the lack of it?) hurt her eyes. She plunged her needle into the pile of crocheted wool lying limply on her lap- too carelessly, too unforgivingly-she bit her lip as a drop of life blood emerged, she deserved it. She raised her bleeding finger to her lips, dropping a light kiss on it, the way her mother used to when she fell and scraped her knee. Darkness of an adultcentric society engulfed her as the light of innocence was snuffed out. Bedtime.

Soulless:
The heat was sweltering and the streets were dusty with red specks, sent swirling into the air, time and again as the carriages trundled past. His knees were bruised and raw from kneeling on the gravelly sidewalk. Oh. How he hated this with a vengence. Sweat trickled into his eye, stinging it, squeezing out reluctant tears. “ Dah-ling! Look! He’s crying!” The jarring clash of coins, unwanted, yet needed. Food for the day, no dignity for tomorrow.

Unlike me:
He sucked hard, concentrating with a will that narrowed his eyes to slits. He sucked with great effort toom, moving his xheeks in and out rhythmically. Fluffy, dark green and moist. Mm. He moved his jaws ( did he have any?) His face was pressed up against the glass. People gazed at his shifting, chomping mouth. What were they staring at? He bulged his eyeballs out at them ( for them?) He was no anomaly. He felt like a fish in a tank. Then again. He was. A sucker fish, I mean.

Done by: Tiffany!