Be The Leaf Monster
by Liam Pieper (Australia)
Face it: life has not turned out the way you planned, has it? Be honest with yourself. Nobody aspires to the sort of life you lead, even with all the perks of the cosy socio-economic nest you've built for yourself behind that desk. You can feel it, can't you? Creeping up behind you as you pour yourself another glass of functional alcoholism and snuggle up to the tepid amusement to be found in the Friends series finale. Isn't it funny how the monotony becomes so fully realized, it begins to attain the corporeality of a kind of warm cloak you can wear against the cold uncertainty of all the decisions you chose never to make?
Today, you are going to change your life. Get out to the sidewalk about five minutes early to wait for the guys in your carpool to turn up. Five minutes will be just long enough for you to completely bury yourself in that pile of autumn leaves you raked up yesterday. A good measure of whether anyone can see you, is daylight. There should be none under your beautiful blanket of dead leaves. Just crouch still and don't breathe.
When you hear the car pull up, wait just a moment, just long enough for your co-workers to wonder, ‘Hey, what's taking Danni (elle) so long?' Just when they're debating whether to break the cardinal carpool rule and tap the horn, that's when you spring up from the pile of leaves with your hands hooked over like long-clawed paws high above your head and as the leaves shower to the ground around you, summon from the depths of your bowels, an unholy:
‘RRRRRRROOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWHHHHHHHRRRRRRR!!!'
Dave, who's always sitting in the backseat craning his neck to covet your low-crime suburban idyll, will be the first to spot you and he'll alert everyone else by saying, ‘O JESUS!!! IT'S THE FUCKING LEAF MOSTER!!! DRIVE! BOB, FUCKING DRIVE, DRIVE, DRIVE!'
Lumber toward the car, arms still above your head, with big reverberating steps through the dewy grass. Bob will try to get the car in gear, but true to form (just like he bungled the Winthrop Hammerlen's account), the car will jolt in reverse towards you. That's when you should hop atop the boot of the two-door Honda coup. John, who has to this point kept his cool, will now send through his gaping mouth a slow whisper like, ‘Ohhhhh, dear God.'
Dave will be crying too hard to hear the sound of your fist thrusting through the rear windshield, from the screaming though his own bald little head. He won't have time to compare before you send your claws deep into his throat and clench your paw around his voice box to keep it from waking the neighbours. Send Dave's head to the doorframe with enough force to pin his skull to the coat hook. John will run from the passenger side seat, and you let him go, smiling at the thought that he is running towards the McKennedy Street , where you happen to know three other leaf monsters are waiting impatiently for their breakfast.
Bob should have gotten the car started by now, so make sure you've got your balance when you climb up on the roof to punch a hole through it. Be careful not to stub your claw on Bob's head. You just want to slam a hole big enough to get your elbow through so you can have the wiggle room necessary to get a good grip around his Adam's apple. He shouldn't have got the car above 30 km/h before he goes into shock so the car should roll gradually to a stop. When it does, pull Bob up through the hole in the roof and lay him across your lap. Then tear him in two at the waist, tossing the legs and crotch to the street below and sink your head into the intestines to feed.
Once you're stuffed, walk back to your house and call a taxi. Remember to shower before work. Indiscretions like these are common to the high-powered executives, but you do not need to promote gossip.
26 Апреля 2024Международный день интеллектуальной собственностиМеждународный день памяти жертв радиационных аварий и катастроф
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1 Мая 2024Праздник труда (День труда)
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