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Flash Fictions
Food Chain.
I'm never sure exactly what you should expect. Therefore, maybe you should stop expecting me to expect for you. These short fiction paragraphs, the surreal little tales are all I can offer. That and maybe a few coupons for fish and catfood. Every week a new odd adventure will appear in this space. After a few weeks, if the response is green and spacious, I'll even start playing off the words of your e-mails. I begin with snowchains.
Food Chain.
Mornings live in the ocean. Most people don't realize this fact. Most people don't realize most facts. Most facts don't realize people, but then I'm moving away from the point, and I only have the rental for the weekend. Mornings live in the ocean. There at the bottom of some deep riff are the hours between late night and early afternoon. They've set up a city complete with schools, convenience stores and over flowing detention centers. It isn't so much that crime is a problem, but rather that certain minutes like to switch places with each other, throwing the morning time off kilter. Sometimes these minutes try to blame the troubles on the carelessness of fish or crustaceans. The various organisms are put on trial, accused of fumbling with the balance of time, or charged with making people late. After a series of proceedings, the truth is always discovered, and the animals are let go. This, however is only a short lived reprieve, because mornings have made lucrative deals with the fishing boats. In exchange for releasing the fish into easy catching spots, the mornings have been promised fresh new bikes. Sure mornings can't reach the pedals, but that's why dogs made training wheels now isn't it.
Raising rabbits is not easy. No, no it's really not. If you get scared, e-mail me and I'll calm you down. Things being what things being.
