Hud was glad that Beth was still alive and grieved that Marlena wasn't with them anymore. It was horrible pulling Beth off of that rod. Hud could swear he could feel it within his own upper torso, from inside to the outside and down to his shivering toes and throughout his whole skeleton as they freed her from it. The pain she must still be in as they rushed to get out of that darkened and tilted apartment while that giant bald mutant sloth circled around with its insane echoing screeches.
It would be so weird if a flaming hobo jumped out at them just now.
Finally, at last, at least Lilly was gotten onto that other chopper and out and the wait they almost couldn't endure until they were in their second chopper... such long seconds.Oh, they had made it! They'd be safe now!
And then that bleeping monster had to jump! Why couldn't it just die calmly and quietly. Why'd it have to copy Jaws. Or Big Ass Spider. Or that piranha movie where one of those bleepin' fish broke through the periscope of a submarine and attacked that guy through his eye as he screamed, "AHhhh AHhhh AHhhh!" Or something like, whatever. it was that Milhouse said.
Pulling Rob away from the wreckage of the downed helicopter and holding onto the camera was difficult. Thank whatever goodness they were unbelievably still alive with limbs whole and unbroken. And they were gonna make it! Getting Rob up finally, he was running faster than Beth and Hud. Those impact tremors really kick your heart's stomach in the tush.
But, OH, that darn camera! And bleeping double darn for dropping it? And then looking up into those curious dead black fish-like eyes,, things flapping on the side of its head... and it couldn't be looking down. Oh, please don't see me! Please don't see me! Is it looking at me? It can't be! I'm not a flaming hobo that would attract attention and I'm so small and it's so big! WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE DAYLIGHT! Hud thought more bleeps as that giant weird head came rushing down with its mouth opening and an orchestra was playing Jaws music somewhere . Hot foul breath of the blood of others... and possibly fish, the coppery tang of the head of the statue of Liberty and a strong oder of fishy salt water... some hand sized fishes were flopping in some potted pools of giant mutant sloth saliva ...
OH BLEEPIN'CRAP! DULLEST SHARP TEETH EVER, CHEWING! OH the PAIN! IS THE CAMERA OKAY! WHERE'S THAT FLAMING HOBO THAT COULD'VE DISTRACTED THIS MONSTER!
Merciful unconsciousness.
Oh NO, PAIN waking Hud up to horrible PAIN. Cool hands touched his face. His vision focused on Marlena's beautiful features worried with apparent concern. Sirens were going off. What did that mean, it was something important, he was sure. Oh, they were going to die after all, anyway? More merciful unconsciousness.
Marlena lifted Hud with a super Xena strength in her extra arms as her wings lifted them both to fly away from the oncoming bomb drop...
(To be continued... )
*Milhouse is on the Simpsons.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Saturday, March 28, 2015
NONfiction-FICTION : Ugly Monkey Tales... page three
The ugly monkey baby was back in the crib, never quite remembering how it got there or when and who let it out or put it away like a toy. Must be mother Cuckoo.
The door was shut and the window with blunted afternoon sun was closed. But the pretty blue curtains with orange-yellow flowers blew inwards towards the crib with an unfelt breeze.
That's not right. A shut window should not have curtains moving. There was an old fan on the dresser that was not on. The ugly monkey could hear a swishing of whispering in the room. It seemed to be coming from the unopened window, from the blowing curtains, the only window in the small room.
"MOMMY!" The ugly monkey called out, hoping that mother Cuckoo would come in quickly. But she didn't come in. There was no sound of movement from the other side of the door.
The ugly monkey stood in the middle of the crib, leaning forward slightly, listening to the whispers that seemed to come from the fluttering curtains. The little ugly monkey creature in the crib slowly leaned forward and leaned slowly more forward, straining its little monkey ears to listen. The whispers seemed to become a little louder and a little louder, from two particular flowers within the cloned print of flowers near the curtains center to the left.
"Sshhh. I think it's listening." One flower, shorter than the other, seemed to move independent of the material that bobbed beneath it.
The flower to the right was longer stemmed with its bloom tipped conspiratively to the other and independently bobbed in reply. Wad it the tall one that said, "I don't like it, do you?"
And the other said, "No. I don't like it. I think I'll bite it."
A small sharp pain, like a mean pinch, seized on the tiny knuckles of the ugly monkey baby, making it screscreech and cry out, "MOMMY!"
Still, the closed door remained silent.
"MOMMY!" The ugly little monkey cried out again. And still no answer .
The curtains slowly stopped fluttering in the wake of giggling flowers.
"Mommy." The hideous little thing in the crib mewled and sobbed. No one was coming. The ugly monkey sat on its pillow, tucking its pajama nightgown under its toes as it cried, twisting its crooked little legs under itself lest something bite at its feet, too. It looked at the small pink mark marring near the webbing of its left pinky and hiccupped with sniffles.
Only in grief filled silence did the beautiful mother Cuckoo finally come to take the ugly monkey into the living room to turn on the television, to the channel with the cartoon of the fat, yelling caveman. A dish with a partially cooked egg and broiled toast was set in the little monkey's lap as it sat on that recliner where a monster possibly lurked beneath.
Dinosaurs were being used as if innovatively. A car worked by a rectangular hole in the floor where the driver ran while sitting and driving from the driver's seat. It was still a terribly unliked cartoon.
Christabelle might be back soon and play. But night would come and ugly monkey would be put back into the crib and be expected to sleep.
The caveman was yelling again, always yelling.
(to be continued... )
The door was shut and the window with blunted afternoon sun was closed. But the pretty blue curtains with orange-yellow flowers blew inwards towards the crib with an unfelt breeze.
That's not right. A shut window should not have curtains moving. There was an old fan on the dresser that was not on. The ugly monkey could hear a swishing of whispering in the room. It seemed to be coming from the unopened window, from the blowing curtains, the only window in the small room.
"MOMMY!" The ugly monkey called out, hoping that mother Cuckoo would come in quickly. But she didn't come in. There was no sound of movement from the other side of the door.
The ugly monkey stood in the middle of the crib, leaning forward slightly, listening to the whispers that seemed to come from the fluttering curtains. The little ugly monkey creature in the crib slowly leaned forward and leaned slowly more forward, straining its little monkey ears to listen. The whispers seemed to become a little louder and a little louder, from two particular flowers within the cloned print of flowers near the curtains center to the left.
"Sshhh. I think it's listening." One flower, shorter than the other, seemed to move independent of the material that bobbed beneath it.
The flower to the right was longer stemmed with its bloom tipped conspiratively to the other and independently bobbed in reply. Wad it the tall one that said, "I don't like it, do you?"
And the other said, "No. I don't like it. I think I'll bite it."
A small sharp pain, like a mean pinch, seized on the tiny knuckles of the ugly monkey baby, making it screscreech and cry out, "MOMMY!"
Still, the closed door remained silent.
"MOMMY!" The ugly little monkey cried out again. And still no answer .
The curtains slowly stopped fluttering in the wake of giggling flowers.
"Mommy." The hideous little thing in the crib mewled and sobbed. No one was coming. The ugly monkey sat on its pillow, tucking its pajama nightgown under its toes as it cried, twisting its crooked little legs under itself lest something bite at its feet, too. It looked at the small pink mark marring near the webbing of its left pinky and hiccupped with sniffles.
Only in grief filled silence did the beautiful mother Cuckoo finally come to take the ugly monkey into the living room to turn on the television, to the channel with the cartoon of the fat, yelling caveman. A dish with a partially cooked egg and broiled toast was set in the little monkey's lap as it sat on that recliner where a monster possibly lurked beneath.
Dinosaurs were being used as if innovatively. A car worked by a rectangular hole in the floor where the driver ran while sitting and driving from the driver's seat. It was still a terribly unliked cartoon.
Christabelle might be back soon and play. But night would come and ugly monkey would be put back into the crib and be expected to sleep.
The caveman was yelling again, always yelling.
(to be continued... )
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Law &Order: Silence Under V for Vendetta ... page three
Dr. Huang didn't follow Stabler, Benson and Starling. When he got outside the precinct he jumped into a bright red expensive porche and drove out of the city. For hours he drove as big bridges got smaller and smaller and he found back roads that twisted and turned until he came to a tiny bridge with hardly a stream trickling under it. This, where even the most frightening troll would not willingly dare to venture, if not for a little evil mutant sloth appearing to live in a large animal cracker box getting slightly mushy on the bottom.
Dr. Huang was no longer Dr. Huang. Huang was now Wong, B.D. Wong, and he was just a little annoyed after talking his emotions out in the. five or so hour car ride.
"Mary Sue!"
The evil sloth grabbed a tangled blonde bob wig as if unnoticed in the action as Wong continued.
"You labeled everyone else but not me?" He said as he stood in the sunlight, not entering the shade of the bridges underneath. His hands were on his hips,, fisted with needing an answer. Although, now it didn't seem so important.
The little evil mutant sloth straightened the slightly crooked wig, turned to Wong with an evil slothy-sheepish grin and removed a short piece of licorice from its mouth. "I know. I apologize. I was trying to alphabetize what wasn't in order as I was typing the post and I missed a few other labels. I tried to correct it but the blinking cursor wouldn't stop adding letters where they didn't belong when I tried to place the name Huang. It just wouldn't do it. So I gave up and hoped no one would notice ."
Wong quickly considered and accepted the apology, feeling a bit silly to have come all this way. But he wasn't writing the story so it was out of his hands.
"What else did you forget? And why have me come all this way?"
"I forgot the to be continued and I wanted to be called Mary Sue?. I think that's right. Or maybe it's left."
"Oh." Wong looked over to watch an old pickup go by.
"You want to get back to the story. The others can't solve what's going on without you."
Wong blushed, smiled, then plated his hand down before his face, getting back into character. Wong was again Huang. He jumped back into the car and took off while the evil sloth stood to stretch much taller than would appear. Finishing the licorice, it was time for a brownie break, to give Huang enough time to get back to New York City.
In the meantime, the candles weren't cooking the soup fast enough and cold coffee wouldn't do with a cold brownie. With a small dread of the oncoming warm months and the bugs that stupid warmth releases, the evil sloth supposes it should move back to its horrid swamp shack. where better comfort is still but a dream. Pretending it's a castle had not made it a castle. or attracted the real thing, just like blowing out candles on a birthday cake and waiting and waiting...
"Guess I'm just doing everything all wrong and evil." The little mutant sloth smiled to itself, no longer caring if even the world crashed into the sun as people seemed to really want, what with their love of violence, zombies and other things not worth thinking about.
Now watching a rock real close to see if it would move, THAT would be something!
As soon as Huang got back, the story could continue.
(TO BE CONTINUED, if I live long enough XD)
Dr. Huang was no longer Dr. Huang. Huang was now Wong, B.D. Wong, and he was just a little annoyed after talking his emotions out in the. five or so hour car ride.
"Mary Sue!"
The evil sloth grabbed a tangled blonde bob wig as if unnoticed in the action as Wong continued.
"You labeled everyone else but not me?" He said as he stood in the sunlight, not entering the shade of the bridges underneath. His hands were on his hips,, fisted with needing an answer. Although, now it didn't seem so important.
The little evil mutant sloth straightened the slightly crooked wig, turned to Wong with an evil slothy-sheepish grin and removed a short piece of licorice from its mouth. "I know. I apologize. I was trying to alphabetize what wasn't in order as I was typing the post and I missed a few other labels. I tried to correct it but the blinking cursor wouldn't stop adding letters where they didn't belong when I tried to place the name Huang. It just wouldn't do it. So I gave up and hoped no one would notice ."
Wong quickly considered and accepted the apology, feeling a bit silly to have come all this way. But he wasn't writing the story so it was out of his hands.
"What else did you forget? And why have me come all this way?"
"I forgot the to be continued and I wanted to be called Mary Sue?. I think that's right. Or maybe it's left."
"Oh." Wong looked over to watch an old pickup go by.
"You want to get back to the story. The others can't solve what's going on without you."
Wong blushed, smiled, then plated his hand down before his face, getting back into character. Wong was again Huang. He jumped back into the car and took off while the evil sloth stood to stretch much taller than would appear. Finishing the licorice, it was time for a brownie break, to give Huang enough time to get back to New York City.
In the meantime, the candles weren't cooking the soup fast enough and cold coffee wouldn't do with a cold brownie. With a small dread of the oncoming warm months and the bugs that stupid warmth releases, the evil sloth supposes it should move back to its horrid swamp shack. where better comfort is still but a dream. Pretending it's a castle had not made it a castle. or attracted the real thing, just like blowing out candles on a birthday cake and waiting and waiting...
"Guess I'm just doing everything all wrong and evil." The little mutant sloth smiled to itself, no longer caring if even the world crashed into the sun as people seemed to really want, what with their love of violence, zombies and other things not worth thinking about.
Now watching a rock real close to see if it would move, THAT would be something!
As soon as Huang got back, the story could continue.
(TO BE CONTINUED, if I live long enough XD)
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Law & Order: Silence Under V for Vendetta... page two
Dr. Huang finally made it to the double sided mirror only to find detectives Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler facing a broken bar-less window, their backs stiff as statues. They didn't move for a long moment as the little FBI psychiatrist took in the disastrous scenery. Then Huang finally broke his own paralysis to march fully into the interview room and yell, "WHAT HAPPENED!"
Both of the detectives turned to him with their mouths hanging open, a silence of questioning lambs. They were momentarily speechless.
Captain Craigen was next in the room with someone not far behind as their shoes crunched on broken glass. Thecaptain demanded, "WHAT HAPPENED!" It was almost a fond whine of cherished memories of being disobeyed, as he must've been again. His underlings were always messing up and going against orders. But dang-nabbit, they were his underlings that he'd known and worked with for years...
Olivia and Elliot turned to to the captain and the someone behind him,, mouths still hanging open as the new person's shoes crunched on more glass under her nice affordable flats, entering the room and getting closer.
She surveyed the mess. Her west Virginian twang was calm and soothing as she spoke. "Hello, I'm FBI agent Starling. What, may I ask has happened?"
Elliot and Olivia both took shaky breaths. Elliot was coming down from his close loss of control in being about to beat a suspect into a confession. Olivia had the same bright idea and she was a little, or more than a little attracted to the guy inthe mask that had just escaped.
Detective Stabler was the first to compose himself as agent Starling offered her hand for a shake and he took it. Two quick little tugs and niceties of "Hello," were gotten out of the way.
"Well," he said, "Please excuse us while we go chase down our freshly escaped suspect."
"WHAT THE-" Before Craigen could continue a scolding and try to send the naughty detectives home, they were out the door trying to save their jobs before that scolding for disobeying orders they had disobeyed.
"GET BACK HERE!" He stood, bellowing after Benson and Stabler as Starling darted after them through the door. Dr. Huang followed her as quickly as he could.
Detectives John Munch and Fin Tutuolla mosied up to a nearly sputtering captain Craigen.
They certainly noticed the glass and broken window.
"What happened?" Munch asked innocently. "Has the zombie apocalypse begun?"
Fin rolled his eyes, "Would you give it a rest? You're always on about conspiracies!"
Craigen turned to them. "Benson and Stabler were told to wait for a briefing on our Guy Fawkes and they disobeyed. Agent Starling thinks we may have the wrong guy. Or may have had the wrong guy. I want you two to go to every store in the city and find out how many sewing machines were bought between now and George Michael's birthday."
Munch rolled his eyes with a nearly inaudible sigh of mundane overwork.
Fin looked ready to pull his gun out and shoot... something. "Are you serious!" He wasn't asking . Munch started to turn towards the hall exit but hesitated . "It's the reptillians, isn't it?"
Craigen's face was poker. "Yes, it's the reptillians."
Fin gave them both a good long stare.
Both of the detectives turned to him with their mouths hanging open, a silence of questioning lambs. They were momentarily speechless.
Captain Craigen was next in the room with someone not far behind as their shoes crunched on broken glass. Thecaptain demanded, "WHAT HAPPENED!" It was almost a fond whine of cherished memories of being disobeyed, as he must've been again. His underlings were always messing up and going against orders. But dang-nabbit, they were his underlings that he'd known and worked with for years...
Olivia and Elliot turned to to the captain and the someone behind him,, mouths still hanging open as the new person's shoes crunched on more glass under her nice affordable flats, entering the room and getting closer.
She surveyed the mess. Her west Virginian twang was calm and soothing as she spoke. "Hello, I'm FBI agent Starling. What, may I ask has happened?"
Elliot and Olivia both took shaky breaths. Elliot was coming down from his close loss of control in being about to beat a suspect into a confession. Olivia had the same bright idea and she was a little, or more than a little attracted to the guy inthe mask that had just escaped.
Detective Stabler was the first to compose himself as agent Starling offered her hand for a shake and he took it. Two quick little tugs and niceties of "Hello," were gotten out of the way.
"Well," he said, "Please excuse us while we go chase down our freshly escaped suspect."
"WHAT THE-" Before Craigen could continue a scolding and try to send the naughty detectives home, they were out the door trying to save their jobs before that scolding for disobeying orders they had disobeyed.
"GET BACK HERE!" He stood, bellowing after Benson and Stabler as Starling darted after them through the door. Dr. Huang followed her as quickly as he could.
Detectives John Munch and Fin Tutuolla mosied up to a nearly sputtering captain Craigen.
They certainly noticed the glass and broken window.
"What happened?" Munch asked innocently. "Has the zombie apocalypse begun?"
Fin rolled his eyes, "Would you give it a rest? You're always on about conspiracies!"
Craigen turned to them. "Benson and Stabler were told to wait for a briefing on our Guy Fawkes and they disobeyed. Agent Starling thinks we may have the wrong guy. Or may have had the wrong guy. I want you two to go to every store in the city and find out how many sewing machines were bought between now and George Michael's birthday."
Munch rolled his eyes with a nearly inaudible sigh of mundane overwork.
Fin looked ready to pull his gun out and shoot... something. "Are you serious!" He wasn't asking . Munch started to turn towards the hall exit but hesitated . "It's the reptillians, isn't it?"
Craigen's face was poker. "Yes, it's the reptillians."
Fin gave them both a good long stare.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
NONfiction - FICTION : Ugly Monkey Tales... page 2
The ugly monkey was still just a baby no bigger than a small watermelon and always in a strange place. Things never really seemed familiar. The bars that held it mentally in the crib as it sat on its pillow did not keep out that familiar uneasiness as other things climbed in.
They were small, half the size of barbies, give or take an inch or two. A girl and a boy... and a little horse. The ugly monkey baby pulled its twisted little legs closer, tucking under, trying to fold into a nonexistance in pulling away. These weird human-like creatures weren't threatening, it seemed, in asking if the little ugly monkey wanted to play. It seemed like a monstrously awkward moment as the ugly monkey either shook its head in the negative or choked out a feeble, "no." Or maybe it did both. Then the girl, boy and horse were gone and the monkey looked around the room at all the unfamiliar objects of a dresser, table, desk, and nothing hidden around or under them. The door was open and a muttering of conversation could be heard from rooms away.
"Mommy."
The conversation continued unbroken . Maybe it was the television or radio. Ahh, the radio, another contrivance of irritation that confused and disturbed the little animal. The radio was almost as big as the television, being a record player that opened with a lid on top.
Sometimes mother cuckoo would hold the little ugly monkey baby when turning on the radio by the knob and tuning the stations by the next knob. That red band behind the numbers moved and one radio station would blend into the next.. Voices traded spaces and then Elton John was suddenly singing about the yellow brick road and to follow it.
Mother cuckoo would sit the little ugly monkey baby on the floor and go into another room or go sit at the table, on the chair or couch and stare at the wall... if she wasn't busy on the phone.. And there was a tiny red light distracting from searching out the room for those weird creatures. That glowing red light in the front of that electrical furniture that was a radio.
It was alive with voices of those trapped within. This wooden cyclops was as a doorway to some sad, red glowing world that the ugly monkey cupped its paws around its eyes over the red light, to look into.
Face pressed close to shade out the daytime external light or shade out the nighttime light of lamps and ceiling fixtures. In the world of red, a bright night of nowhere and from everywhere exposed ribbons of twisted red tree limbs, bare of leaves and void of life, hiding those voices were the only sign that something hummed with a vibration of stolen life.
The little ugly monkey baby heard about the cat doing something in a cradle and a lonely little boy waiting for his dad. What's a dad? Who cares. There are sad little people stuck in this terrible box!
The ugly monkey strained one eye, then the other, looking into that glowing red, dead tree realm. "You can come out." Nothing happened. "Where are you?" The ugly monkey said into the speaker of which none from the other side would hear its tiny feeble voice.
There was no answer. Only the sad songs played on, few of which the monkey baby would remember with any clarity .
"Don't be sad."
Nobody answered. Where was that yellow brick road all in red? All they'd have to do is follow it, right?
(to be continued...)
They were small, half the size of barbies, give or take an inch or two. A girl and a boy... and a little horse. The ugly monkey baby pulled its twisted little legs closer, tucking under, trying to fold into a nonexistance in pulling away. These weird human-like creatures weren't threatening, it seemed, in asking if the little ugly monkey wanted to play. It seemed like a monstrously awkward moment as the ugly monkey either shook its head in the negative or choked out a feeble, "no." Or maybe it did both. Then the girl, boy and horse were gone and the monkey looked around the room at all the unfamiliar objects of a dresser, table, desk, and nothing hidden around or under them. The door was open and a muttering of conversation could be heard from rooms away.
"Mommy."
The conversation continued unbroken . Maybe it was the television or radio. Ahh, the radio, another contrivance of irritation that confused and disturbed the little animal. The radio was almost as big as the television, being a record player that opened with a lid on top.
Sometimes mother cuckoo would hold the little ugly monkey baby when turning on the radio by the knob and tuning the stations by the next knob. That red band behind the numbers moved and one radio station would blend into the next.. Voices traded spaces and then Elton John was suddenly singing about the yellow brick road and to follow it.
Mother cuckoo would sit the little ugly monkey baby on the floor and go into another room or go sit at the table, on the chair or couch and stare at the wall... if she wasn't busy on the phone.. And there was a tiny red light distracting from searching out the room for those weird creatures. That glowing red light in the front of that electrical furniture that was a radio.
It was alive with voices of those trapped within. This wooden cyclops was as a doorway to some sad, red glowing world that the ugly monkey cupped its paws around its eyes over the red light, to look into.
Face pressed close to shade out the daytime external light or shade out the nighttime light of lamps and ceiling fixtures. In the world of red, a bright night of nowhere and from everywhere exposed ribbons of twisted red tree limbs, bare of leaves and void of life, hiding those voices were the only sign that something hummed with a vibration of stolen life.
The little ugly monkey baby heard about the cat doing something in a cradle and a lonely little boy waiting for his dad. What's a dad? Who cares. There are sad little people stuck in this terrible box!
The ugly monkey strained one eye, then the other, looking into that glowing red, dead tree realm. "You can come out." Nothing happened. "Where are you?" The ugly monkey said into the speaker of which none from the other side would hear its tiny feeble voice.
There was no answer. Only the sad songs played on, few of which the monkey baby would remember with any clarity .
"Don't be sad."
Nobody answered. Where was that yellow brick road all in red? All they'd have to do is follow it, right?
(to be continued...)
Friday, March 6, 2015
CLOVERFIELD TWO: page 2
Jason began to fear internal damage from his horrifying fall and impacts with a sudden dizziness that comes from exhaustion when a body is forced to overexert tremendous energy. Just when he felt he could start to sinking again and never resurface, a coast guard boat drifted up behind him, hauling into their vessels, every body they could. He felt like the catch of the day, resembling a dead fish left on top of the other corpses. while the more lively were seen to, concerning wounds and getting blankets. He had to kick himself back to life again and soon or they might send him to the morgue....
Marlena's nose began to bleed from the radioactive scratch, not bite, of the strange thing that had attacked the small group she'd stayed with. If they'd known Jason was still under the bridge, they'd have gone down under there as they detoured towards Beth's father's apartment, down into the subway tunnel. Rob seemed really concerned for her, even after losing his brother and the deplorable way he'd acted, as if he'd been wronged in not calling Beth.
The authorities that had witnessed the terrible outcomes of those parasite bites, they feared she'd literally explode on them as they dragged her to a tent to put her down, put her out of their misery, and her pain and theirs.
The gun was raised at her face as her dizziness faded and the fatigue o of the long night was replaced with the adrenaline towards survival. There was no out, crowded as she was, for flight rather than fight. And her arms and hands seemed to take on a life of their own as she grabbed the gun just as the trigger was being pulled aiming at her face. Unaware of the hazmat suited person behind her as he tried to restrain her, the bullet found his head, splattering blood against the white partition... that white tent of a partition.
Lilly and Hud would not have left Marlena, maybe Rob wouldn't either, if the gun toters hadn't rushed them along. Everyone was confused. No one would ever have believed that a giant bald mutant sloth would destroy and terrorize a city and they'd be correct. A giant bald mutant sloth would never do such a thing willingly. Whatever the circumstances, it was an unfortunate occurrence. As was the moth-like wings eruptting from Marlena's back, along with four extra limbs of spider-like qualities which leapt like a lizard on a cold hot plate and took off into a direction where no guns were sensed...
(to be continued...)
Marlena's nose began to bleed from the radioactive scratch, not bite, of the strange thing that had attacked the small group she'd stayed with. If they'd known Jason was still under the bridge, they'd have gone down under there as they detoured towards Beth's father's apartment, down into the subway tunnel. Rob seemed really concerned for her, even after losing his brother and the deplorable way he'd acted, as if he'd been wronged in not calling Beth.
The authorities that had witnessed the terrible outcomes of those parasite bites, they feared she'd literally explode on them as they dragged her to a tent to put her down, put her out of their misery, and her pain and theirs.
The gun was raised at her face as her dizziness faded and the fatigue o of the long night was replaced with the adrenaline towards survival. There was no out, crowded as she was, for flight rather than fight. And her arms and hands seemed to take on a life of their own as she grabbed the gun just as the trigger was being pulled aiming at her face. Unaware of the hazmat suited person behind her as he tried to restrain her, the bullet found his head, splattering blood against the white partition... that white tent of a partition.
Lilly and Hud would not have left Marlena, maybe Rob wouldn't either, if the gun toters hadn't rushed them along. Everyone was confused. No one would ever have believed that a giant bald mutant sloth would destroy and terrorize a city and they'd be correct. A giant bald mutant sloth would never do such a thing willingly. Whatever the circumstances, it was an unfortunate occurrence. As was the moth-like wings eruptting from Marlena's back, along with four extra limbs of spider-like qualities which leapt like a lizard on a cold hot plate and took off into a direction where no guns were sensed...
(to be continued...)
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
NONfiction-FICTION: The Ugly Monkey Tales
Page 1
It's first memories were of being worried about walking on the floor, as if some floor monster would reach up through it like a vaporous ghost and pull the poor creature down. Standing it's little tailless body on the recliner or on the couch did not quite seem safe enough but oddly,there was no chandelier to swing from. This apartment was just an average place to be kept hidden from people in case the monkey jabbered its incoherent language that may cause a second look back at its rough hideousness.
No symetry, biggest tiny round head... must a description sully a mind not tainted by the horrific visual of such a cruel happenstance? Mother Cuckoo had put a pink dress on it, much as people outfit their pet lapdogs. She was around 21 or 22years old, too young for the responsibilities of caring for any living animal up to 3or 4 years old or into any younger or older age. Though it could speak a few english words as expected of a normal human child, "Mommy", did not answer when called on.
The ugly monkey looked at her from over the back of the recliner. It wasn't interested in the cartoon of a fat caveman yelling all the time . It hated the colors and wanted the television off but could not leave the safety of the chair, false as it was.
"Mommy."
The vacant woman was a beautiful blonde sitting at the table near thr kitchenette behind the living room, behind the recliner. She was awake and yet appeared to be sleeping. She remained sitting,motionless and mute. With a 5 or 6 year-old daughter in first grade, it would be understandable that the woman was taking a quick vacation in her mind. Except, she seemed totally outsourced, with blank eyes that stared forward towards a wall to the right of the ugly monkey .
"Mommy."
There was no reponce. The little ugly monkey felt totally abandoned as it waited for her to wake up. It remembered that this seemed to have happened more than once. There were days that the ugly monkey just could not leave the safety of that chair... or the false safety of the couch, wherever it was when something needed to be turned off, as there were many things aimed at the creature, things it did not like.
There was a cartoon about a bunch of weird people in a weird. band that had cat ears and cat tails. The ugly monkey really hated that one. And there was an annoyance of a group that traveled in a van,solved crimes and ran around getting chased by monsters before unmasking the monster as a human trying to scam, then there was talk of food between the hippie and a talking dog... And then that REALLY annoying little dog always wanting to fight as if a scaredy cat dog wasn't intolerable enough, made the whole thing even worse. The ugly monkey had no choice but to brave hopping across the floor to turn the channel or turn it off.
After a while, mother cuckoo would snap out of her daze and fix an egg sandwich for lunch or dinner. The broiled toast was always good. Six year-old Christabelle would get home from school and play with the creature that mother cuckoo had told her, "Look what I've brought you, a little... something."
Cuckoo laughs hard. "I said little sister. I didn't say... 'something .'"
(to be continued.)
It's first memories were of being worried about walking on the floor, as if some floor monster would reach up through it like a vaporous ghost and pull the poor creature down. Standing it's little tailless body on the recliner or on the couch did not quite seem safe enough but oddly,there was no chandelier to swing from. This apartment was just an average place to be kept hidden from people in case the monkey jabbered its incoherent language that may cause a second look back at its rough hideousness.
No symetry, biggest tiny round head... must a description sully a mind not tainted by the horrific visual of such a cruel happenstance? Mother Cuckoo had put a pink dress on it, much as people outfit their pet lapdogs. She was around 21 or 22years old, too young for the responsibilities of caring for any living animal up to 3or 4 years old or into any younger or older age. Though it could speak a few english words as expected of a normal human child, "Mommy", did not answer when called on.
The ugly monkey looked at her from over the back of the recliner. It wasn't interested in the cartoon of a fat caveman yelling all the time . It hated the colors and wanted the television off but could not leave the safety of the chair, false as it was.
"Mommy."
The vacant woman was a beautiful blonde sitting at the table near thr kitchenette behind the living room, behind the recliner. She was awake and yet appeared to be sleeping. She remained sitting,motionless and mute. With a 5 or 6 year-old daughter in first grade, it would be understandable that the woman was taking a quick vacation in her mind. Except, she seemed totally outsourced, with blank eyes that stared forward towards a wall to the right of the ugly monkey .
"Mommy."
There was no reponce. The little ugly monkey felt totally abandoned as it waited for her to wake up. It remembered that this seemed to have happened more than once. There were days that the ugly monkey just could not leave the safety of that chair... or the false safety of the couch, wherever it was when something needed to be turned off, as there were many things aimed at the creature, things it did not like.
There was a cartoon about a bunch of weird people in a weird. band that had cat ears and cat tails. The ugly monkey really hated that one. And there was an annoyance of a group that traveled in a van,solved crimes and ran around getting chased by monsters before unmasking the monster as a human trying to scam, then there was talk of food between the hippie and a talking dog... And then that REALLY annoying little dog always wanting to fight as if a scaredy cat dog wasn't intolerable enough, made the whole thing even worse. The ugly monkey had no choice but to brave hopping across the floor to turn the channel or turn it off.
After a while, mother cuckoo would snap out of her daze and fix an egg sandwich for lunch or dinner. The broiled toast was always good. Six year-old Christabelle would get home from school and play with the creature that mother cuckoo had told her, "Look what I've brought you, a little... something."
Cuckoo laughs hard. "I said little sister. I didn't say... 'something .'"
(to be continued.)
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