|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
for Ryan, the creator of Mr. Fruit
His eyes if you stared
right into them looked like any other
Sims’, but he learned quickly
that his meager §20,000
could be doubled by marrying
any unsuspecting woman of Pleasantview.
It went like this:
he seduced them with chili con carne
with marathon chess games with
whispered Simlish in their ears.
After the woohoo and after the marriage,
he led them down wallpaperless
hallways to a room with only one
white oven and locked them in.
Sometimes he thought about the women
in a white cloud above
and slightly to the left of his head.
But the only thing he was interested in now
was the still life of this bowl. This bowl of fruit.
While there is no eventual objective to the game, states of failure do exist in The Sims.
One is that Sims may die,
either by starvation,
drowning, perishing in a fire,
electrocution or by virus
(contracted from a guinea pig)
There are also more complicated ways of killing Sims,
getting them into a pool and deleting the steps,
or leading them into a room then deleting all the doors.
Every woman in Pleasantview is missing.
The townspeople are talking.
Set the time to >>> so the ghosts come out.
Doors open and close on their own, the garbage can falls
and stands itself up again.
The bowl of fruit is on every inch of every wall.
Build more walls to put up more fruit paintings.
Delete the windows to put up more fruit
paintings. Delete the doors to put up more fruit paintings.
Walk around the house and view all the fruit paintings.
about the women anymore.
The floating diamond
over his head
bursts full green.