"I creep, I sleep, I stab, I eat."
As a boy he'd been taught the ways of the assasin by his mother. After a long day of training sessions out in the yard, she'd gently stroke the beak that protruded from his face and encourage him with soft words.
"One day you will join the ranks of assasin soldiers. You will pass the hours of your day enveloped in the sweet, scented embrace of Spring flowers. You will rest easily under blue skies and warm rays of sunshine. But you will also experience beauty interrupted and broken apart by sudden violence, and you will defend it with your life my son. Understand that. It is our way. We are an assasin clan. We are born to it, we breed to it, and we die for it. It is our way." and he would fall asleep to her soothing words every night. He loved her beyond measure.
One day he woke up and she was gone. No note, no message, no reason. He cried till all his legs folded beneath his body and crumpled under the weight of his immense grief. He scratched at the soft green leaf he'd fallen asleep on, hoping she'd hear his message and come back. She did not. Disjointed, sorrowful days turned into weeks.
He became frustrated and angry.
"Why did you leave like me like this Mother? Where are the answers I need now? Why didn't you warn me about how alone I would feel, how destroyed by this mystery I would be?" and after his yelling, the grief would come again and he'd cry.
But while Grief will linger, Death will not. So he wrote her off as dead. He decided that was the answer and his heart and mind shifted to its truth. He began creeping along through the days less downhearted, his pain changed though it never went away.
And he noticed his sorrow being slightly dented by cravings. They came on slowly at first but then with force. His appetite for sweet food drove him to the source. Finding some beautiful and pungent flower, he'd drive his beak into the soft, fleshy skin and drink until he was bloated. But each time his hunger seized him, he stabbed more forcefully and more often than necessary. Sometimes his pleasure for stabbing was greater than for filling his stomach. He felt anger still brooding inside him. He knew he was being destructive for its own sake.
Caught in the act of this violence one day he jumped in fright. Another voice, not unlike his mothers, screeched,"Aren't you going into a bit of over kill there? You don't need to poke the flower more than once to get the juice you know."
He flicked his antennae back from his eyes and realized he was looking at a beautiful, female assasin. Instantly he was seized by lust for her. She looked so soft, sounded so sweet. He said,"Yes, I suppose I am going overboard. I'm sure I look like a real fool." She flicked her antennae too, but he felt no empathy from her. And she began crawling away down the fuzzy green stem of the plant they were apparantly sharing.
He watched her as she left. No more graceful than himself or any other, but graceful beyond all others not of their kind. Those other things that had no names to them.
He wanted to follow her, so he did.
And as he followed, all of his loss, his confusion, and the mysterious cravings that had begun taking over his mind intensified. He imagined himself on top of her, but he didn't quite understand why. He just wanted to be there. Felt like he had to, that he must, and the opportunity could not pass from him. So he quickened his creeping pace and began closing the distance between them.
She finally noticed, but it was too late. She felt the prickly hairs of his chest on her back and she felt him attach to some part of her she'd barely ever noticed. Suddenly she saw eggs and babies in her mind. Offspring! Their offspring. And she wanted this more than anything and she rocked with the stranger glued to her now.
But her joy was not to be. She felt a sharp, sudden pain pass through her body from her back to her stomach. She began resisting, fighting but he clamped all of his legs tighter around her. She rotated an eye back and saw his giant beak coming down and down again and his voice choked and thick with rage as he said,"You fool, you fool!! I will not know you! You will not leave me!" In her dieing, she appealed in a gurgled voice,"No, our offspring...please..." but he was clenched with fury and stabbed her harder again yelling,"NO!! NO!! No more, more hurt, no hurt for my own, never!!!".
She lay still, three of her legs broken, her body torn apart by his rage. He backed up and looked at her. He felt no satisfaction at all. Only more craving. He pointed his beak gently towards her wounds and sucked up her fluids into himself, then creeped away.
As his nights wore on and he began feeling his age, his dreams were filled with horrendous images. A mother chastising him for killing his children, a mate eating his antennae off his head, and the voices of his children chanting in high timbered tones:
"Ring around the rosies
pockets full of posies
Ashes, Ashes
We all fall down..."
Mrs. Poston's WaltzMrs. Poston never batted an eye anymore about being asked her age. She'd lived a long time and wanted everyone to know she was eighty-nine and she would always answer with evident pride,"I am eighty-nine years old.", as if she'd just announced she was two hundred and ten years old. She was proud she had outfoxed the hurdles of Life, all the comedy and tragedy of it, and was now enjoying that final stage of her life, what she liked to refer to as her Waltz. When distant relatives from across the country would call, to occasionally check on her, she would tell them with great conviction,"Of course I'm fine. I'm waltzing." and just saying this made her smile. Of course, her answer led these distant relatives to believe she was actually becoming batty. She had lived long enough to know what a phone call with her would generate around their dinner tables.
"The poor old dear, she can't possibly be happy living in that little town all by herself. And with her strange answers, I think she's becoming dangerously senile."
Of course, the distant relatives never did anything about it other than call. And Mrs.Poston was quite happy about that. She did not want her Waltz interrupted by her relatives' Two Steps or Lindy Hops or whatever dances the young people nowadays were doing. Mrs.Poston had done her Two Steps and Lindy Hops, with great vigor back then when she could, but even as a young woman it was always the Waltz she loved the most anyway. Romantic and slow and graceful. And now, she only wanted to Waltz. Part of her even thought of herself now as romantic and slow and graceful. And she rather liked feeling that way.
The only part about her Waltz she found occasionally difficult, were the moments that painful lack of her late husbands partnership pricked at her heart. She had long since been past and suffered through the initial stages of her grief, those chest wracking sobs and days without eating and wishing she had gone with him over The Great Divide, and she had shorn herself up. Now when those little bites of Grief came back, she would shake them off and say into the air,"You stop it Grief! You go away now. You took as much as I can give you." and then her mind would be on something else. Other times she would close her eyes, imagine her late husband smiling at her and hearing him tell her that he loved her, and she would get goose pimples on her skin. In the back of her mind, she suspected on some level those goose pimples came because he was standing next to her with his arm around her shoulders, even though she couldn't see him. But maybe, just maybe, he could see her. And that thought comforted her too.
It had been ten years without him. About three years after his death, after Grief had stopped kicking her while she was down, she felt herself emerge as a new person. Well, a different person anyway. She was the same overall, but instead of becoming old and worried she became old and bold. And she tried to be as bold, even if it meant being silly, as she reasonably could without being put away in a nursing home. There's a fine line for old people and they cross it only when their behavior makes others uncomftorable. So, Mrs.Poston was often bold or silly with people when they spoke with her, but never purposely made them uncomftorable. Except once.
There was a man at her church, Mr.E.Z.Gooch. In his early fifties, tall and imposing, he and his wife Barbara often took up various roles from leading the hymns to organizing social events for the members to ( some said ) even suggesting relevant topics for their pastor to address. He had been a very successful businessman and retired early, coming into town and buying up a great deal of property in Mrs.Postons neighborhood, including the very large plantation style house just a ways down from her own. Mr.Gooch had lived in the town as a young child, grown up there and then left for college and did not return until recently. Now retired but still full of energy, he and his wife were determined to use that energy previous directed into building a successful business to building themselves into everyone else's business in town. They ingratitaed themselves into town buy financing school improvements, relandscaping the town park and installing new play equipment for the children and new benches and drinking fountains, and of course invested in the church.
Mrs.Poston wasn't fooled for a minute by any of it. She knew Mr.Gooch and he was the same boy now as he was as a child. And he was a little monstor as a child as far as she was concerned.
During their intial rounds of inviting neighbors to their house warming party, they'd hand delivered their invitations. An easy feat in very small town. When he and Barbara came by her house to give her the invitation, she invited them in for some lemonade like any civilized person would do. Mrs.Poston was not, after all, a savage.
"Mrs.Poston, I'd like you to meet my wife Barbara." he had said at the door. She smiled at Barbara but caught something on the woman's face a younger woman than herself would not have noticed. Barbara was a defeated wife. The kind of wife who had looked the other way one too many times, the kind who always hoped one day her husband would feel as adoring towards her as she did him until she realized he never would and by that time, she felt too old to start over. The kind of wife who had suffered a too self-centered man who spawned too self-centered children. And everyone would forever tell her how sweet she was. Mrs.Poston knew that Barbara probably hated being referred to as 'sweet' anymore. And she laughed to herself later when she thought that perhaps Barbara had an interior landscape full of fantasies where she was like the action movies today featuring gorgeous and lethal female leads. If Barbara were her daughter, she would sit her down and say,"Darling, what you need is to go be someone different for awhile. Go buy a ticket to the South Pacific just for yourself. When you get there, go drink and gamble and have your way with the native boys and swim and go dancing and swing from the trees. Then come back home and ask yourself if you really want to resume your life as a doormat." But, Barbara was not her daughter. She was E.Z.'s wife. That little monstor.
And so there the couple sat, E.Z. babbling his way through his life and how it led him back to his roots and now he's having a big welcoming party and won't she attend? Mrs.Poston stared at him when he asked the question. She stared a long time before answering. So long, he and Barabara nervously smiled and looked back and forth at each other and back to Mrs.Poston and back at each other again. Mrs.Poston knew exactly how long she could sustain her pause before E.Z. would reflexively ask if she was alright. And she waited just that long.
E.Z. leaned a little forward, as if this shift in position would help Mrs.Poston understand him better, as if he would really seem sincere as opopposed to just appearing sincere, and said,"Mrs.Poston? Are you, um, are you OK?" Mrs.Poston tilted her head at him a little and replied,"I'm not sure. Maybe I'm having a stroke." and then giggled a little when E.Z.'s chin fell open.
"Oh you close your mouth you silly boy. I'm not having a stroke!" and then she laughed out loud and Barbara laughed outloud and E.Z. laughed outloud.
"Thank you very much for troubling to stop by and invite me to your party, especially you Barbara since I imagine of the two of you, you will be doing most of the work. But no dears, I won't be coming to your party." and she sat there. E.Z. reacted exactly as a man who was not used to hearing the word 'No' very often. In his mind, every nuance of life was a battle of some kind and he had to believe he had at least attempted to win them. "But we go so far back Mrs.Poston and I was hoping my favorite lady in the town would come." Mrs.Poston made a quick glance at Barbara, whose eyes glanced towards the floor and then up at her husband, avoiding all connection to hers, and said,"E.Z. you were a little devil then and you're a little devil now. Notice I said 'little' E.Z. And don't you patronize and condescend to me in my own home. Now you extended your invitation and I had the good manners to listen to you extend it. Now you should have the good manners of accepting that I do not wish to attend. But I will say you have a very lovely wife and I hope to see more of her in the future." and Mrs.Poston put the emphasis on 'her'. A shadow passed across E.Z.'s face before he batted it away inside his mind long enough to be able to say their good-byes before he said to her what he really thought.
Assuming, like many people are wont to do, that Mrs.Poston was too old to have good hearing, he said a bit too loudly to his wife on the way to the next neighbors house,"Can you believe that old hag?! Who does she think she is to talk to me like that? I'm glad her husbands not alive because if he were I'd take my indigination out on him."
And Mrs.Poston chuckled behind her screen door,"Not on your best day E.Z. Not then, and not now."
Ever since then, E.Z. had made it a point to make sure there were other church members standing around as he patronzied Mrs.Poston. He would cross from one aisle to the next just to do it too. For awhile she had let him get away with it, finding most everything he said too boring to respond comically to anyway and she thought eventually he would tire of getting his pound of flesh. But for weeks he had not and Mrs.Poston finally told herself enough was enough.
Standing just outside the church door one day having a chat with a few of the other older ladies, though none quite as old as herself, E.Z. once again made his way over. First, he spoke to the other ladies in his nearly-charming way and Sunday social posture. In the meantime, Pastor Gilsmith had also strolled over to say hello to them all, along with a couple of other men. One the town sheriff and the other a farmer everyone just called 'Bean' after his favorite crop ( which was soybeans but calling him Soybean always seemed a bit much to his townfolks ). Before E.Z. could turn on her, Bean said hello.
"How are you today Bean?" Mrs.Poston asked.
"Oh, just fine, just fine. Mrs.Poston, have you seen my dog Willy anywhere lately?" he inquired.
She put a hand on his arm gently and said,"Now Bean, you know Willy's been dead for five years. You let
that dog go now you hear me?". Bean nodded and kind of looked at the ground then looked back at her. At which point she heard E.Z. interrupt.
"Have you ever thought of getting yourself a dog Mrs.Poston? You know, sort of a new partner in life, or crime as it were." and then laughed at his own joke outloud.
"No E.Z., but I have thought about getting a new neighbor occasionally." she said. The other old ladies grinned at each other a little while Bean stood there still thinking about Willy.
E.Z. would not be outdone. He was used to having the last word in any exchange. So he whipped out his handy-dandy old person neutralizer known as condescension.
"Oh now Mrs.Poston,"he intoned as if speaking to a child,"you wouldn't be speaking about Barbara and myself would you?" as he kept his game show host smile on.
"No E.Z. I wasn't talking about Barbara at all." she said as if speaking to a child. And then allowed a big, plastic smile to spread across her face. She could feel him bristle underneath the veneer of stiff politeness. He was at a complete loss for a reply and she knew it. She knew he just wasn't smart enough to quickly figure out what to do with her answer. She had a flashback of a small blonde boy in her frontyard so many years ago, red faced and stamping at the ground.
"You just wait till I tell my daddy about you two! Then you'll see what happens!" E.Z. had spit out at her and Mr.Poston. They had caught him in the act of deflating the tires on their car and Mr.Poston, who had been watering the yard at the side of the house, caught the boy by surprise and pointed his hose at little E.Z. and soaked him in water. He sprayed E.Z. with that hose even after the boy had jumped up and stumbled to the ground in his surprise, then got up again and started darting around. Mr.Poston stopped spraying him and said,"You knock that off boy you hear me? Don't you ever let me catch you in an act of maliciousness again around here. You'll turn out a bad man if you keep that nonsense up." And he waited for, hoped for an apology to come from the little boy, tears, anything. Anything besides E.Z.'s habitual defiance.
She and Mr.Poston had had quite a laugh about that soaked little boy swearing revenge at them. And when E.Z's father came around later to ask what had happened, and had been told, he apologized instead for his son. "I'm sorry Mr.Poston, and to you too of course Mrs.Poston. I'll make sure E.Z. understands plainly he done wrong." and he thanked them and apologized several times more before they had finally convinced him they were no longer upset about it and that E.Z. would be just fine.
"It's just, ever since his momma died....you know." and E.Z's fathers eyes would well as he squeezed the edges of the hat in his hand extra hard.
But E.Z.'s father was not here now to hold his son back nor apologize for him as the grown man searched rapidly inside his skull for some other insulting thing to say to Mrs.Poston. He looked at the other ladies, who by now could not hold back thier own grins, and he looked at the pastor who had known Mrs.Poston too long to try to fight her battles for her, and he looked at Bean who just blankly looked back at him. Then he found it. He found the thing to say and she smiled as she waited for him to say it.
"You know Mrs.Poston, another less friendly man might think you were trying to be purposefully insulting. But I know you're just too old and sweet for that." and his Cheshire grin reappeared once more.
She sighed.
"E.Z., that has got to be the weakest comeback to a clear insult I've ever heard from anyone. You've got it all wrong dear. A less freindly man would absolutely know I was being insulting and so would a more intelligent one. And you know I've never been so old and sweet as to hide my insults, and in particular where you are concerned E.Z. Gooch." and she let her words stand in the light of the mid-morning sun that fell on them all.
E.Z's face turned bright red. Bean, who had suddenly returned to reality during the last part of the discourse looked at E.Z. and said with absolutely no guile at all,"Mr.Gooch, I used to grow tomatos the same color your faced just turned." and the older ladies broke into hysterics, waved good-bye to Mrs.Poston and went off giggling to their cars. E.Z. turned to look at the Pastor Gilsmith for help of some kind, any kind, that would shield him but no help came. Mrs.Poston looked at Bean and said,"You haven't grown tomatos in a long time have you Bean?" and he said,"Naw, I just never liked 'em really. They're kind of a moody vegetable Mrs.Poston." and he paused and looked at E.Z., who was staring down hard at Mrs.Poston."Do you like tomatos Mr.Gooch?" to which E.Z. said with a bit too much emphasis,"I certainly do NOT!" and he stamped away to find his wife.
Pastor Gilfish looked at her and smiled. "I won't tell you that I think you were a bit tough on E.Z. Mrs.Poston nor will I tell you I think you are perfectly right. See you two next week then, oh, and Mrs.Poston, my wife and I are having a small party for her birthday next Saturday, would you like to come? You too of course Bean."
Bean said,"Yup. I'll be there." and he wandered off to his truck, not bothering to get any details from the pastor. Bean had been born and raised here, and he knew the details for a birthday party didn't matter so much as you showed up like you said you would.
"I will come to your party on one condition Pastor." she said coyly.
"And what condition is that Mrs.Poston?"
"You must play the Waltz." she said. To which he crooked his arm out to help her to his car for the drive to her house and said,"Only if I may have the first dance Mrs.Poston."
She ran her hands through his thick, black, silky hair. "So soft",she mused to herself.
Then she let her hands stray down his neck and across his finely muscled shoulders.
"Good lord you have such smooth skin." She whispered into his ear.
He whimpered. She walked around in front of him and back handed him hard across the mouth. She liked the sound of the slap the best.
"Shut up before I cut your throat open." Then she bent down and kissed his mouth hard, biting on his lower lip. "Damn, you are so fine. I'm glad I got to screw you before tieing you up."
She walked over to a round table in the cornor of the hotel room she'd brought him to, and dialed the number. While waiting for an answer, she lit a cigarette.
"Yes?"
"Target acquired."
"Good. Follow through with the medicine and leave. We'll contact you later."
"Follow through with the medicine and leave. You'll contact me later." she said mechanically.
"Correct."
She hung up and took another drag off her cigarette and exhaled slowly. Picking up her purse, she opened a small
zippered compartment containing a syringe. Carrying it with her back to the bed, she grabbed the satin black eye
shades she'd used while playing with the man in the room, now tied to a chair, and walked up behind him pulling
it down over his face. She told him,"Just relax. You liked this last night didn't you? Think of it in the same way. You
won't be as lucky this morning of course, but you can still think of it in the same way. Just a precursor to a nice
sleep." and with that she inserted the fine tip of the needle into his neck and pushed the plunger down slowly. Even
before she'd pulled the needle out, his head went slack and hung down towards his belly.
He couldn't hear her anymore, but as she got dressed she told him how good he had felt in her arms, how nice it was to have had him to romp with for awhile, and how sorry she was that he had been born only to come to this end.
"If there is reincarnation baby, maybe next time you'll choose a safer path in life. Or, at least pick better freinds."
Carrying her purse and one small bag, she walked out of the room closing the door behind her. As she walked through the lobby to pick up her car, another man walked in past her.
"Good morning Ma'am" he said as he passed her.
"Good morning" she replied mechanically.
It was her husband, going in to do what all good husbands do for their wives: clean up her mess.
The Magic of ButterfliesLily sat on her bed with the cardboard box she'd recieved in the mail and had been waiting anxiously for the last month.
In the back of her favorite comic book,"The Scallywag's Journal" about a pirates adventures, she'd seen a small ad selling peanuts. It read:
"Magic peanuts!! Plant them in your yard and watch them grow! Send $1.95 to Mr.Ionue, P.O. Box 725, Tampa, Florida 33605-1518. Allow six weeks for shipping and handling. (Please do not eat the peanuts )."
So Lily had sent her one dollar ninety-five cent money order for magic peanuts. Now, finally, she had her mysterious package.
She had made the mistake of mentioning her secret purchase to her freind Rachel. Rachel was the only other girl in her neighborhood close enough to play with, but was not the best friend anyone could wish for. For no reason she would turn on Lily and say the meanest things or push her and laugh when she fell to the ground. But she was the only other girl around to play with and most of the time she and Rachel got on fine.
While they were sitting in the big oak tree that grew in Rachel's backyard, one they had nailed many boards to in order to build places to sit comftorably, she said to Rachel,"I bought something out of the back of my comic book." Rachel smirked and said,"What did you buy this time? An original Samurai sword?" and laughed at her own insult. Lily felt stung by the comment, and embarassed. "No,"she said sullenly,"I bought some magic peanuts." Rachel jumped down to the ground off the lower branch she'd been sitting on and rolled around overdramtically clutching her ribcage, laughing and mocking Lily.
"Bah hahahaha! Magic Peanuts! Oh my god!! Lily, you're the dumbest girl in the world! Magic Peanuts!!".
Lily climbed down out of the tree and walked past Rachel to go home, leaving her laughter as far behind her as she could. But the memory of Rachel's laughter came back to her mind as she stared at the bag inside the cardboard box on her bed.
"Well, they might be magic. It only cost a dollar ninety-five if they're not." she said reassuringly to herself.
Next to the bag was a small white slip of paper with handwriting on it. Lily held it between her hands and read.
"These are truly magic peanuts. Please do not eat them. Please plant them in a place where the least damage may be done, as the growth cannot be predicted. Thank you for your purchase. Mr. Ionue."
Lily read nothing into the warning, too excited by the word 'magic' to pay attention. She decided she would plant the peanuts in the far cornor of her backyard, under the shade of a sycamore tree.
Bag in hand, Lily crossed through the kitchen towards the back door, trying not to be noticed by her mother who was cleaning the stove top. But her mother noticed her and said,"Lily, where have you been? What's that in your hand?". Lily stopped and without looking at her mothers face she said,"I was over at Rachels playing." and headed towards the door again, ignoring the second question that had been asked of her. Her mother turned back towards the stove, placated by Lily's answer.
Using a small hand shovel, Lily dug a trench about three feet long into the ground. She placed the peanuts an inch apart, and then brushed the loose dirt back over the top of them. Then she used a small watering can to soak them in and just to make sure she wouldn't forget the spot, she stuck a tiny stick with a peice of bubble gum wrapper stuck to it in the ground, and walked away.
She'd only taken five or six steps when she felt the ground shudder under her feet. She turned to look at her plantings and before she could process what was happening, millions of butterflies burst forth from the soil like a massive cloud of thick smoke roiling into the air.
Glued in place, astounded and awed, Lily was soon covered in butterflies from head to toe. She shook them off of her and ran for the house, bursting through the back door and yelling at the top of her lungs,"Momma come look, come look!! My magic peanuts turned into butterflies and they're all over the backyard! They landed on me but I shook them off you have to come look!"
Her mother, completely unphased and responding very dully to Lily's shouting, turned and looked down at her daughter. "Lily, dear, you've really got to stop this constant story tellng of yours. Now go wash those filthy hands and get ready for dinner."
Lily was deeply disturbed by her mothers lack of enthusiasm and sense of wonder. She tried harder to appeal to her mother. "Mom, just come look! Hurry up before they all fly away." Her mother sighed and walked over to the kitchen window, looking through the glass and into the yard where hardly anything grew. And there was nothing there now except the evidence of Lily's childlike attempts at gardening.
She turned to her daughter, who was looking up at her with tremendous anticipation in her eyes for her mother's response. The kind of look a parent never wants to disappoint. Since Lily's father had died, life had been so hard for her. She knew a part of her daughter was coping by turning her mind to fantasy. A dimension and place where anything was possible and hopes and dreams did not die. She reached out and pushed her daughter's long golden hair behind her small little ear and gently lied. "I'm sorry Lily, I just didn't move fast enough. I think they've all flown away."
Lily's face turned to a grimace. "You didn't see even
one of them Mom?" Her mother quickly looked back out the window. "Well, maybe one. But I can't be sure. In any case, they all seem to be gone now." And she paused then asked her,"How do you suppose that many butterflies came to be?" Part of her hoped Lily would be honest, confess that she was just telling stories. Instead Lily said,"I bought some magic peanuts. The kind you can't eat. I planted them in the ground and like two seconds later - boom! They came swarming up out of the ground. They were beautiful too Mom. Like glittery bright red and yellow and blue. And big too. Big as my fist."
Lily turned to leave the kitchen but stopped and said,"You do believe me don't you Mom?" Her mother sighed and said,"Of course I do honey. I only wish you would think about saving your money for other things. Like a new bike or toy of some kind." Lily knew by her mothers answer that she did not, in fact, believe her. She was humoring her again. It made her heart droop and she would resolve not to trust her mother anymore with her secrets. Now she lied to her mother too. "Yeah, ok Mom. No more magic peanuts."
As she walked back up to her room, she whispered out loud,"I know you beleive me Daddy." as she looked at his picture that hung on the wall of the staircase. He nodded at her with a big smile and all the belief in the world she needed and said,"Yes sweetheart, I do. Now go wash your hands like your mother said, and come talk to me about those butterflies afterwards. I'll be out by the sycamore tree, OK?."
"OK Dad."
Mr.Henry M. Smith
"Cooca cola... slurp the banana blood..."
That's what Mr.Heny M. Smith whispered to himself as he followed through on his pool stroke and sank his eight ball.
Gingerly replacing the house cue to it's warped wall stand, he turned to the room and announced he was a caterpillar.
"I....I am a caterpillar. With the soul of an insect I feed on the sweet spilled nothings of your street vendor food. And I am hungry now, distracted by an always mewling sweet tooth, so I take my leave of you."
Outside on the sidewalk, Mr.Henry M.Smith bent to put his lips to a sticky red substance pooled on the ground. Probably the stumbled spill of some tourists cherry slushee.
But this sweet snack was not to be. Mr.Henry M. Smith, caterpillar and local pool shark, was removed from existence by the sharpshooting of a very angry Mexican midget standing behind him.
"No fucking caterpillar cons me in a game of pool." said the midget as he walked away down the dark street, eating one of Mr.Henry M. Smiths crunchy legs.
