Thirteen days...
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Suddenly a shot rang out. Gregor ran for his life. Little did he know, he was actually running toward a near-death experience. His every step could impact whether Gregor's life would blossom as those of his ancestors or whether he would die in a pool of pitiful shame like his brother Chris. As Gregor ran, he contemplated the last moments of his brother's life. He could think of much better ways to die than underneath a wooly bison.
Gregor's mind was flung back to reality as he glimpsed a glint of gleaming galvanization glistening like glass in the glowing green grass. It was the end of a garden hoe. Gregor screamed as his right foot came down on the instrument of pure evil. Not because it hurt but because he knew what was about to happen. With a power that defied all the forces of nature, the handle of the garden hoe braved the frontier beyond the speed of light as it arced toward Gregor's forehead. Of a sudden, Gregor realized that everything in this story was happening way too fast to alter except the composition of it. He realized in that very nano-instant that the only person in the whole world who could do anything about this terrible head-splitting tragedy was the person writing it. Gregor appealed with all the desperate and heartfelt anguishment he could mustard. The handle of the now infamous garden tool suddenly became a column of sparkling, cool water. Gregor was launched into the air by something that was never explained. Up and up he went, toward a perfect formation of Canadian geese. He squawked with ferocious delight as he realized how well his plan had worked. At roughly the same time he reached the peak of his launch and started back down. Gregor had complete trust in his author. Surely nothing would happen now. As he neared the ground, a sudden blast of warm Mediterranean air shot upward toward him and softened his already improbable landing among the bales of harvested cotton. Gregor laughed gleefully and realized that it was only thirteen days until the first Saturday of football season. 'Thank goodness' he thought.
Then he died of a massive coronary.
Gregor's mind was flung back to reality as he glimpsed a glint of gleaming galvanization glistening like glass in the glowing green grass. It was the end of a garden hoe. Gregor screamed as his right foot came down on the instrument of pure evil. Not because it hurt but because he knew what was about to happen. With a power that defied all the forces of nature, the handle of the garden hoe braved the frontier beyond the speed of light as it arced toward Gregor's forehead. Of a sudden, Gregor realized that everything in this story was happening way too fast to alter except the composition of it. He realized in that very nano-instant that the only person in the whole world who could do anything about this terrible head-splitting tragedy was the person writing it. Gregor appealed with all the desperate and heartfelt anguishment he could mustard. The handle of the now infamous garden tool suddenly became a column of sparkling, cool water. Gregor was launched into the air by something that was never explained. Up and up he went, toward a perfect formation of Canadian geese. He squawked with ferocious delight as he realized how well his plan had worked. At roughly the same time he reached the peak of his launch and started back down. Gregor had complete trust in his author. Surely nothing would happen now. As he neared the ground, a sudden blast of warm Mediterranean air shot upward toward him and softened his already improbable landing among the bales of harvested cotton. Gregor laughed gleefully and realized that it was only thirteen days until the first Saturday of football season. 'Thank goodness' he thought.
Then he died of a massive coronary.
Posted by J. No
Filed in Uncategorized |
