Magnus is gone. I spent an hour and half digging a deep hole yesterday, and buried him with his favourite fucktoy, a red and white stuffed mouse I bought him at some point. It could have been the original stuffy I bought him with the ticking clock behind it, but for some reason, my memory has that being purple.

Of course, I could be confusing it with the creepy stuffed toy my coworkers once left in my car with many… interesting… details added in permanent black marker. I think I still have that somewhere. It was kind of hilarious.

Anyway, Mousy was Magnus’ hump toy, nearly daily, for twenty-one years. He’d pin her (I insist her, my wife insists him) down and bit onto her ears before going to town.

And we buried Mousy with him. Kind of cruel, when you think about it. Cat rapes it every day for over twenty years, so we bury her with her abuser. I was kind of against the idea, but hell, it’s just a stuffed animal and it brought him a lot of pleasure over the years. I would definitely not recommend anyone being buried with their rapist. Or having anything to do with them, other than maybe sitting in the courtroom watching them get sentenced to hard time.

Magnus died and was buried on Blue Monday, and Blue Monday lived up to its name in spades.

Target: 1100 words
Written: 1508 words, novella: The Mungk