July 13, 2017
The pebble and the blade of grass engaged in a lengthy discussion concerning continental drift. As the pebble ardently emphasized a particular theory, it was interrupted mid-sentence when a stone bounded over the hill and rolled by. Taking advantage of the pebble’s sudden pause, the blade of grass spoke up.
‘There’s that stone again, rolling like it always does. Now why does it do that? Roll so much, I mean,’ said the blade of grass.
‘Oh, never mind. It gathers moss and pond scum and I don’t know what all from the pond over the way. Ignore it. As I was saying …’ the pebble resumed.
The pebble talked on and on. The blade of grass longed for the stone to return from the pond covered in moss, slime or what have you. Perhaps then the pebble might might be able to seize the chance to get a word in edgewise. But the stone never returned. Apparently it gathered no moss.
July 11, 2017
The niceberg decided to move to Antarctica. It crafted the route of its sojourn carefully so as to avoid accidentally sinking any ships. Off it sailed.
‘Look out. I’m an iceberg on my way to Antarctica, and if you are within the sound of my voice, be aware of my approach and take the necessary precautions. I wouldn’t want any sort of an accident to occur,’ shouted the niceberg at regular intervals.
‘Hey, berg, what’s your deal?’ asked a curious orca who happened to be passing by.
‘I’m moving to Antarctica. Won’t you join me? I could watch you frolic and offer praise,’ said the niceberg.
‘Thanks, but no thanks. I’m married to a polar bear,’ replied the orca.
So the niceberg, unaccompanied, floated carefully along until it reached Antarctica. It made many friends and was so nice Global Warming didn’t even have the heart to melt it. And when the rest of the world was a cinder, the niceberg thrived.
July 7, 2017
Hey, the barn owl was just doing what barn owls do.
July 6, 2017
Spanky has just seen:
a. the future.
b. 200 cobras rising en masse from the rain sodden lawn.
c. a barn owl swallow a hedgehog.
d. alien life forms emerging from a recently arrived flying saucer.
July 5, 2017
A shell exploded in a searing flash above the assembly hall, stunning the air. – JG Ballard
July 4, 2017
The man, barefoot, wearing a threadbare formerly green coat and tattered formerly red pants, perched in silence on the edge of the lone chair in the barren room. His face was a frozen mask of indifference. Sunlight from the window slid in slow geometry across the floor to while away the hours. The man remained there, perched, motionless. He spoke only once after many hours and before many more hours until he perched dead on the edge of the lone chair in the barren room.
He said, ‘I think it’s good.’
