i hate shipping, i really do. this wasn't story as much of it was blind rage at seeing another "emo sonic and amy" story on the front page with 59 reviews. Oh well, it's not anything I can change.


I nod my head.

And then I sit down.

And it pains me to do this, but I open my mouth.

Out of my mouth rains despair, a song of enslavery to me,

a song of quit getting off, a masturbation aid, to the masses. When I speak, it's the crooning of a soft-porn star before the fucking begins.

The worst part is

that, it's not my own voice. When words come out, it is the words of people I've never hear of, people who

have never seen

me.

Never seen me, my feelings, my morals,

my outrage

, but I see them.

To me, I'm a plot device. A game. A pawn to move the pieces along some kind of demonic, hardcore bukkake porn chessboard,

and when I come out

I am nothing but an empty shell to be entered.

And when they enter me, it's like

rape

. And because its' them, I'm in the backround. My thoughts are just their thoughts. My words are in reality, them, and they're

just taking control.

I can't fucking

breath right now.

Or for that matter, talk.

I think so

,anyway.

Somebody's talking for me.

Man, I'm miserable.

I know my friends are, too.

In a moment of reprieve, she whispers...

"Sonic... This isn't canon."

Which is where I;

Or not me, but my user starts screaming and thrusting.
"FUCK CANON! I'M FUCKING YOU RIGHT NOW!" I-

Well, not I...

Maybe it really is me?

I finish, and i stand over her, pull up my pants, and move on.

Five steps on, I drop to the ground.

Without any guidance, I'm just a tool, right?