The ringing in his ears had recently become more of humming. He bent down picking up toys that were not his; blocks with faded letters on them, teddy bears with missing eyes, trains without wheels. He used contractions of the ligaments in his hand to pick the toys up and throw them carelessly and forcefully into the box.

"Come eat these few little bites of food left," the woman said. He stirred, and after staring at the woman, rather hesitantly wrenched the pot out of the woman's hands and devoured the remaining scraps. How like a ravenous wolf he looked, although with more intelligence in his eyes. These eyes were the eyes of the boy. He had been born with them. But he had terrible vision unless he was using his spectacles. As he reflected upon this, still dumping the food into his jaws, a flashback occurred to him.

In his flashback, Doc was holding his peach-colored hands tightly over one of the boy's eyes, and screaming at him to read the sideways letters on a chart far across the room. The boy couldn't, but he wanted to. He wanted to perform adequately, with the hope that he might be rewarded with a lollipop. He knew that spectacles were dangerous things; they could improve your seeing, but one tattered baseball to the face, and you could go blind. The spectacles would shatter, and you would get glass in your eye. In the opinion of most, being blind is worse that having shoddy eyesight. The boy shared this opinion. As he struggled to make out the identity of the frayed blotches on the chart across the room, the woman shook him back into the present.

Startled, the boy immediately snapped his head around in a violent manner that killed him.

The girl with the hard hat had nothing to write, so she drew a small dot on the paper. To those who are not the girl with the hard hat, that dot is a punctuation mark, signifying a pause. On the letter the girl was writing, it was a dot. She was done writing.

She gave the letter to the lady at the post office. The addition of the hard hat girl's letter to the already substantial amount of letters the post office lady had received that day was not monumental. The girl had written the letter to someone very special, and now it was the post office lady's responsibility. The hard hat girl left without second thoughts.

Letters can convey any emotion depending on the writer. This particular letter conveyed no emotion.

Freezerburn Embouchure

The teacher was in the front. "I don't like to buy the fancy cakes." This was said is a downtrodden voice. Muttering, a student commented, "I ate the baby from last year's cake."

When the student returned to his home, he found large locusts tearing apart his mattress. The student's mattress was for sleeping. These large locusts weren't going to take the thing that meant the most to him. But they did anyway.

The girl with the hard hat passed by. "No luck," she asserted. She left as the student stared into space, aghast.

THE HEADLIGHTS
I can see rain that I wish was not there
It floods the homes of the homeless and takes the life of the lifeless and hates the love of the loveless.
Yet it is material. Yet it is sentimental. Yet it is everything.
(shelter, subsistence, and emotions that fuel everything)
Water into Wine

Serrating my body,
Slicing the life from me,
My love remains.
It stares into the headlights as drops obscure its image in the windshield,
And you have left its meat decaying on the side of the road.
You only had one thing you could take from me.
Love, you get out and you help the love
Hurt
It cannot distinguish your teardrops from the natural, unprovoked raindrops from the sky,


Which will fall forever

Sai

C₆H₁₂O<sub>6

The stately infant was sitting in the garden, no more corpselike than when she came. Larks pecked at the bright circles in her head, between brief closings of her eyelids. It was humid. The sight of my poor baby so close to her surroundings made me scream in raw anguish. I had instructed her. Here she was, following orders. Was I a bad parent? Maybe I should have passed the baton off on some other scapegoat, so that all the emotion was not resting on my shoulders like a ton of bricks, red and splintering, 80 cents apiece. I picked up the child and scuffled her indoors, never to return to that exact spot, only to glance at it through the screened-in casket as she barreled through the air.</sub>

'de.ʊs eks 'maːkʰi.naː OR "Boom Snap Clap Turn Around"

Andrew's yard was full of rodents. "I need help, Douglass," he quipped to Douglass.
Following his amigo's advice, Andrew blew his horn into the burrow-hole.
Wise Douglass corrected thusly. "You have the meat and potatoes, but you need some gravy. Try smoking them out with a C sharp."
Again, Andrew blew the horn into the burrow-hole. This time, the rodents went scattering to their Queen, who sent a maelstrom of evil. So, Douglass, who was made of clay, began to melt.
"What's the matter, got your head in the clouds?" Andrew jeered as Douglass died.
Andrew went to eat some boysenberry marmalade and returned to find not Douglass, but a puddle.
"Hey Douglass, is that you, or did Pup have an accident?" snickered Andrew.
Pup yapped incredulously from the sideline.
"Come on, no foolin'."
But the puddle did not stir.
"Aw, quit showing off."
Silence.
As the realization began to sink in, Andrew started screaming and clutching clumps of his hair. This attracted the attention of Amy, who had been passing Andrew's yard on her morning jog. Amy was a fair-haired accountant at the local bank.
Making her way over to Andrew, she asked, "Andrew, what is this puddle doing here?"
Barely comprehensible, Andrew sobbed, "The rodents sent a maelstrom of evil, and now Douglass is gone forever and it's all my fault!"
Amy rolled her eyes, then poured the cherry-flavored remedy into the puddle. In a puff of smoke, Douglass leaped up from the ground and said, "Put 'er there, bud," and all three friends danced around the yard until daybreak came.

Whose disposition was submersion cried, "Clip his wings."

When Segueway opened the door, Case was standing open-mindedly at the planks lining the floor. And he was greeted with a swarm of icy liquid.

The water flooded into the sitting room, until it was even on both sides of the door. Now Case could breathe finer.

Gasping delerious--"It's not okay to eat a retarded person."

Responding, Case muttered, "Maybe this is how God has smited me."

They began to bail the water out the wndow into the grass. This would make the grass grow longer in different days, but time was needed for the nourishment to soak to the roots.

And as this time occured somewhat, Case and Segueway sat in the now dry room, fearing the consequences of Case's sin.

"That is you, my friend, a hellian to be sure. But we can save you of this state in death."

"How is that, Segueway?"

Grandma sat knitting and eyeing suspiciously the plan.

Whispers; "We can cease oppresion."

For the witness to this exchange was an enemy, although loved. Case thought of her as one of the weathly officials, surpassing his accomplishments by far. If Grandma found out about his endeavors, she would tear him limb for limb, ending dependence he placed in her caring warmth.

She piped up eventually. "You've waterlogged the furniture, dangerous boy. Don't try messing with anything else."

Filled with guilt, Segueway pleads. "I ain't talking him into much, Grandma. We just need solutions."

Creaking, "I can give you one--"

But before the rest came from her lips, Case and Segueway had fled the house and therefore her fascist solution, one step closer to the worhty one.

A gun to the head of the bossman, Case was cleansed. Yet waking with a start, he was somehow less a man than he had been before. This regression was no better explained than by disloyalty. For radicals have some taste in their gustatory system, and much less so when they fall dead.