A Little Perspective From Tom Church

Roff shrugged. “What the hell, baby, do it,” he said, scratching his back and wincing. His friend Hugs skated down the driveway on his skateboard, and went off a small ramp. He slammed into the mailbox and broke six ribs. “OOOOH,” yelled Roff, grinning broadly. “That hurt?” “Y-…” Hugs stood and spit out a huge glob of blood. “A-…”

Roff suddenly sprinted down the driveway and up to Hugs. He pulled up Hugs’s t-shirt and looked at the damage. Several bones stuck jaggedly out of Hugs’ chest. Roff kissed a few to make them better.

“What is blood?” asked Roff, curious, as he let go of Hugs, who fell down and hit a trash can. Roff didn’t seem to realize what he’d done, and he went up to the house and climbed in through the front window. “MA!” he yelled. “Gibbee some SNACKS!” He pulled off his Velcro gloves and threw them against the wall angrily. Hugs lay in a pile of garbage, crying, and well on his way to death.

Suddenly, a bolt of pure sexual energy blasted its way down through the clouds and into the ground some ten yards from where Hugs lay. From the pavement grew an enormous tree, which rapidly grew canisters of silly string that clanked to the ground. They spewed green shit all over the place. Hugs died, and Roff came out with Cokes. He stopped short and surveyed the scene. “Whoa,” he said. “Freaking shit,” he said, “clean your stuff the hell up, Hugs.” He drank from a Coke and found it to be Lysol detergent. He eyed it suspiciously. “Aw shit,” he groaned. He slammed his can into the trash and cracked open the second one. He sipped it and eyed the sky. “Looks like a lot of stuff over there,” he said, pointing at a thick clump of grey clouds. “And there.” He emptied his can and then chewed the aluminum. It bent easily in his jaws. After a while, he became bored with himself, and walked slowly down his street. As he walked, drapes were closed hastily and front doors slammed shut. He was to be avoided by the neighbourhood children.

He looked up as it began to pour rain. “Smells like a farce,” he muttered. He pulled his hood of his jacket up, and zipped himself. He trudged through puddles.

He was lost in the rain. He turned up months later, dead in a far-off cornfield.

-Thom
aestheism, not atheism.

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