Ghostly hands took it.

I sit anxious in the observatory, the black hole noise playing.

“That guy shot you!”

In the movies, they’d been worse than t-rexes.

“The Vikings turned the catalyst of our time machine, into this?"

“You’re disgusting!” he yelled between heaves.

Myth blinked up at him in vivid purple and vermilion.

“I don’t remember much,” he said, pausing the game.

Mom blames Uncle for passing his love of schlock monster movies on to me.