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Rated: ASR · Fiction · Death · #1331364
A spoon's point of view when being cleaned.
They loaded us into the tank. Why were they doing this to us? They used us and used us.
Thats all they ever did. But now, they were bringing us to “The Washer”. We had all heard the rumors. Some said they killed us. Some said that they only took us somewhere new. Others didn’t even believe in it. But they believed now. Now we were all screwed.
They packed us all together in tiny little space, that was at the edge of some huge room. One by one, they loaded us in. Children were crying for their mothers. Mothers were crying for their children. The sounds of despair filled the empty room and echoed off the walls, sounding like an avalanche bearing down at us with the weight of a mountain. Finally, when they could fit no more of us in here, and the entire room was full, wall to wall, they shut the door. Well, it was more of a wall then a door. The place that they brought us in through had no wall, and now that we were all in, a wall started swinging up, locking us all in. The door slammed shut with a loud crack, and then we were in darkness. No one said a word. We waited for our fates. What was going to happen? When would it happen. Then there was a noise. A slight humming, rapidly getting louder. Soon we were blocking our ears. Holes opened up in the walls. It was happening!! Gigantic jets of boiling hot water shot out at us through the holes. We tried to get away. Climbing over each other, screaming for our lives. It was chaos. It was pain. It was death. There was no escape.
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