"Bloody Quicksand" by sapoots
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Once was a boy who cried a cocktail of quicksand and blood. This boy, hurt from all angles and devices, cried. But with each drop of blood came with it an agony the boy wanted to escape.
 
“Why do I cry, only to feel more pain?” He thought.
 
He would often think, desperate for an escape. Life attacked him relentlessly, leaving him no choice but to cry. Desperate for relief, he trapped himself in a box.
 
“Cry harder.” He thought. He began to fill the box with sand and the wine-colored sweat of life, desperate to drown himself in the serum of pain he’s choked on his whole life. The excruciating pain of each tear birthed 4 more in its trail.
 
But he needed relief quicker. He began reliving the images burned into his conscious from a traumatic past. The horrors of life brought a new flood of tears, but the box was unforgiving, never filling quite fast enough to drown.
 
Growing impatient, he began to gouge at his eyes, breaking the glass lens that held back his tears. Glass shattered, but no tears rushed through the open wound. 
 
He panicked. 
 
“Where were the tears promised by pain?” He pleaded into the quiet air around him.
Furious, he dug his hands deep into his skull, shoveling bone fragments and brain tissue into the bloody quicksand before him. 
 
He dug for relief, and found death in its place.
 
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*Postcards are 4.13" x 5.83"