| A futuristic tale |
Posted via Supernews, ht .. |
| john adams (johnqadamsiiinospam@minsuthis.yahoo.com) |
2004/11/07 10:42 |
Onions on butter are better than poisonous solar rays on
hot days, read a sign. Somewhere within these words is a
little story about futuristic bees and molitov cocktail throwing
camels. The evenings glow with beatnick love; lanterns are
lit by hand; the women are all foolish enough to go street
surfing just around midnight. So in effect the traffic is like
nothing you've seen.
Now I have to tell you about the crape myrtles. Oh how
elegantly they bloom when you dont feed them! Why, you
might ask, because an underground system of channels
supplies this plant-life with what I can only describe as
concentrated beef broth grime. This is off limits and
poisonous to humans until processed by the specialized
vegetation which consumes it.
Back to the story, though: a couple of charming villains are
held up in a two day seige on the edge of town. To escape
they have devised a plan to cover themselves with ants and
run panicking about an impending ant invasion. This works,
and the sheriff runs his chopper into a cliff, violently exploding.
High In the grottos live the belly dancers. But beware their
love for silk is contagious. There are also magical fiends that
stalk children's bedrooms at night for grain of coffee. One
mustn't forget the winged macaronnis. They are harmless
yet sometimes a nuissance. There have been hover craft
created the size of cities. None of them have been put
to the use of warfare or human enslavement. In the future
they are aware of the high overhead of human suffering.
In fact, these are purely for experiment and fun.
As for the bees they are surely futuristic but they are
no different than modern day turtles. There are colorless
and transparent butterflies. There are also paisleys
that do nothing but float and twirl in mid-air. It seems their
existence was thought of by some kink within the
evolutionary timetable; thankfully no one has stopped
to inquire as to exactly why.
On the way into the town (there is only one path therein
which appears to be taken only by one person at a time,
sometimes accompanied by one camel (either of a molitov
cocktail throwing variety or those which store one or more
jugglers inside a side hatche) a full moon casts shadows over
everything. There is a child-like innocence to this future
and the old and the young live amongst equal quarters and
occupations.
There are not airports because no one wishes to leave their
homeland for superficial reasons. But if one wishes to fly,
they will do so by way of stone age bird or riding a manta
ray to the sea.
The charming villains are smoking lemons across from an old
saloon and some bicyclists stop to ask them for directions.
One of the bicyclists takes off his hand with his other hand.
Inside is a compartment with writing paper and a utensil.
Meanwhile, the other bicyclist is operating some marionettes,
either showing off or practicing for an upcoming occasion,
but in any event not immediately attentive towards anything
else.
A dimensional hole* is suddenly opened, wherein the charming
villains, the bicyclists, the marionettes, the belly dancers, the
camels and the bees are carried.
[*The villains had become suspicious: were these men not
agents of the otherworld, they wondered, long to have been
rumored to exist but generally dismissed as legend, and what
could they be doing here? The villains then observed the
bicyclists become suspicious. Sweating in his hot black suit
and bowler cap, each of the men had swallowed two tablets of
digitalis (it was then clear that a pig tail was poking from under
one of the men's coat tails and his groin area looked pinkish like
that of a pig's). From the clouds descended a giant looking-glass.
It hovered and glanced downwards upon the terrain visuallizing
it from every angle and then retracting, finally disappearing. At
this point the villains were decided they must form a diversion
and warn others in the town, or in the very least find a place to
bury the loot (a collection of precious sedintary rocks).]
It had become apparent, but only too late, that this small
utopia was greatly favored by otherworldly bandits trading in life
forms for its great variety and charms.
On the path in the distance leading outwards from the town a
moon slowly starts to set as some indiglo seagulls gather
on a dim lightpost. It will be a harvest moon. From a few
red clouds, encircled by rose and purple stars, feathers begin
to fall like snow flakes. Some children in a field are building
snowmen out of magnets.
-john
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