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"Ameoba" Ch:2

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MrMario
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Posted 03/22/09 - 12:00 AM:
Subject: "Ameoba" Ch:2
Bu-bump. Weightlessness. Metal creaking, and a grunt.
Slam!
I like the term glazies. Antholny was on to something with that.
My glazies shot open when the bare metal bed of the van came back up and rammed itself into my chest. I could fell the air escape the little bubbles and pockets two huge pink, mabey slightly darkend, sponges of lungs. Weezing. Coughing. Gasping for air like an asthmatic fish without lungs. Too much at once. A headrush.
There was an area on the bead of the van, right underneath my face. It was splotched brown. There was a hole devoured by rust. Or chipped. Whatever floats your ship.
I regained my chest, balance, and glazies. There were two seats infront, and there were two double helixis sitting in them. They both started breaking apart. One of them, the one in the passangers seat saw me through his plastic sunglasses. Shit. Thwack!
I hit him with my elbow. One of the plastic lenses got caught in the helixis eye, and he yelled in agony.
The driver was freaking out! "Shit" and "Chilie Mac!" Kennith swerved the van and headed for the glove compartment. I lost balance.
Tunk!
I hit the side of the van with my head and gave a pissed off groan. Almost as loud as helix's screaming and bleeding. The chemical links kept dissolving. I was sweating.
Click.
The compartment opened. Something black and bulky slid left an right with the van. I reached over with my leg and slammed Kenneth's arm into the radio and AC pannel.
Crack!, went his arm.
He screamed in more agony, than sunglasses helix did."YOU FUCKER! THEY JUST WANT TO STAY IN THE FUCKIN' SPOTLIGHT." He didn't give two shits about one shit anymore. he was taking me down with him.
I ran to the end of the van. I pushed and pulled untill the doors opened. The dry gra road wansnt passing as fast as you'd expect it to. The van was just about to screw, and Kenneth pointed at me with a big, black, metal finger. I jumped.
Wham!
Wham!
Wham!
I rolled and skidded on my arms. Gravel and dust nuzzeled and snuggled into my skin. I stoped rolling and looked back at the van, half dazed.
Sliding left...
Sliding right...
Rolling...
I tried to get up slowly, but leaned too far right and rolled onto my back. I tried again. This time, I managed to get on my feet and stand up straight. I wobbled backward and took a few steps to try not to fall, but no cigar. I slipped and fell. Fell right on my back. Fell flat on my back.
I was the asthmatic fish without lungs. Flopping around to stand back up. But I couldn't. I just layed there. Still. On the lumpy, hard, afternoon road. I tried to regain my wind. I guess at least, I'm luckyer than the assassinated king. Or Jack from the next house over: Met his demise the same way.
To other guys in the neighborhood are metting the killer, the same way. The last two heads of the house hold, are holding weapons out of defense or perhaps something more sinnister. The four wives, they're off picking flowers. The rest viewing off into the distance.
Only two children are left, and guess what they're doing?...
Picking flowers. Anything that made noise was on the left side.
All that hurt and stung and bled and burned and everything bad you can think of, all focused on my right forearm.
Skinned.
Raw.
Foaming.
White oozing in a doobie shaped mark all in the length of my forearm, about as thick as your three middle fingers. Stinging more and more as the sweat keeps rolling down my arm.
If it feels the same, the baby puke. The smell of formula. Kids are cute. Just not the puke.
The embodyment of innocence. Proff that the world dosent have to make sense in order for uss to exist.
A magnifying glass is pretty much an oversized monicle with a handle.
In cartoons, we always see that little ginger child, focusing the light of he high noon sun, into an invisible funnel, concentrating all the light into a single point. Then he moves the light to hit a lone ant, marching to the snare drum, ingrained into her from while she was still a little, white larva. Then we see the little ant sizzle and crackel and shrivel up. Oh, yeah. I forgot the little voice over scream tuned to a high pitch, and muffled volume to reminde people its a small animal.
Smaller than man, even.
You cant help but wonder, if the ant had a god to belive in. And if so, would it wonder why its "ginger-child" god killed it? Or had she heard stories around the ant-hill camp fire, about God killing their friends in the middle of a sugar or left over picknick run? Did their friends feel the edge of the heat stream and discribe the edge? The blinding light and the searing heat? Partially burnning off the front right leg?
Was it unbareable? Was it Stifeling? The humid suffocating kind? The kind of envoirnment at a Black Keys shows? Sweat and skin grinding together to distroted, electric-guitar blues.
Thinking about it reminds me of people picturing the devil with his three pronged pitch fork. Then I remembered how I haden't used a spork in years. Since eigth grade, actually.
I used my last one to eat a cup of yougurt.
Goddamit. Looking straight up, there's not a goddamn cloud in the sky. Major Tom can probably get a clear view of me from space.
I'm the oddity. Lying in the road. In a place with ditches along both sides. Dont really feel like tilting my head anymore. But I did see grass on my way out the back door.
We roll thirty feet on pavement, and were getting hurt. If an ant falls thirty stories off a building, it'll flip itself over and climb back up.
Dosn't make a damn bit of sense...
...The fish without lungs. It stopped.
Your circuts dead; There's somthing wrong.
What else? I'm wondering why the focused light hasen't burned me up. The air is hot, and beads of sweat roll off my face and hair.
Kid, serously, I can't take this light. Stop it. please stop. If you're gonna' me the full hit, burn me to a black, pruny, crisp now.
libertygrl
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Posted 03/23/09 - 9:37 PM:

dna takes a turn for the sinister. the bit about wanting to stay in the spotlight on a whole new meaning after you get to the end. trippy!

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