April 9, 2024
The budding apprentice was called forwards. Blue tiles lined the walls. The air was fresh. It was coming through the window.
“How many more hours until the sun rises?” Asked the patriot.
“The light enters your body in 15 minutes,” responded a naked narcotics agent.
An albatross chirped in the corner.
I painted a scene and then I exited slowly.
The hallway continued down into infinity. The art on the wall was beautiful. It was like a million miles of sound. Even the escalators were moving in the right direction.
The officer crept into his son’s bedroom. The little lad was fast asleep against a pink bed!
The officer laughed quietly. “That’s my son!” He whispered. “My child will grow to cook souvlaki.”
The officer grew short and angry over the years. He was burning inside. His whole world revolved around emotion. He was like a thunder storm.
The wind was keeping secrets.
The harvest could not come soon enough. It was only about half-past noon. That meant ten more hours of rain.
The farmer sat on his porch. He patiently awaited the drought.
“How do you pickle a tuna?” Asked a young servant.
The farmer thought for a while. He scratched his chin like he was some Greek playwright. Then he stood up, a bucket of corn falling from his asshole.
“The answer to that question goes something like this.”
The farmer proceeded to tell a tale of forgiveness. The epic concluded with a theatrical show of moaning. The detailed description was good. The servant had been answered.
The farmer was generous with his wisdom. He was something of an absolutist. He was the last of his kind. His father had been there when Hermaphrodite stormed the senate. He was born into a legacy that no child should inherit.
“Today is the eclipse! The entire world is being affected!” Said the child.
“But you knew that already,” said his mother. “Pull in your line. Let’s go home.”
The young child bowed his head in silent sadness. He reeled in his line. Mother paddled them towards a shipwreck.