They made a deal: He would not expose the witch if she made him deathless.
After eating the fig pie she had baked, things stung within him. He ran unable to speak, vomiting wasps without end.
He no longer feared death.
He begged for what he could not have.
“That’s awful!” he whines. “Just a gorilla suit with a 50s TV for a head!”
Its screen flashes, “KILL!”
“Puerile sci-fi kitsch! Unadulterated bathos— Ack!”
The Machine-Ape strangles the critic.
“What is this?!” he chokes.
“PERFORMANCE ART!!!” it flashes.
The Road to Enlightenment
The Guru offers me the lead for one of his two llamas. “The road to Enlightenment begins with Argle and Bargle.”
I give him a squint.
“You’ll ride Bargle,” he smiles.
I take the rope. “What are you? Some sort of wise guy?”
He taps his nose, still smiling.
They came on horses white as bone. Manes tousled or straight, but black as night.
They came, hoofbeats a somber rhythm. Riders silent under shadowed stars.
They came in our hour of need, for the greatest of heroes uphold oaths beyond death.
Yes, they came.
He glanced at the mayhem warping the city. “Where’s the army?!”
“They fled!” the professor yelled.
“You might not be keeping up with current events, but an open ninth-dimensional portal untying reality like your shoelaces is pretty scary!”
Copyright © 2020 by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
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