Blonk, then, allowed himself to cry. It was the cry of a child when it scrapes its knee on the ground for the first time, discovering in that little moment that will soon pass, that life is, perhaps, unbearable. Blonk crouched down low to the ground, hands grasping the course sand, and screamed an ugly, fleshy gurgle. Sometimes it just ain't so good, huh?
start again