The figures stood blinking and bewildered under the swinging bulb. Small creatures, large creatures, people with stretched and blurred and rearranging features, glitching into being. A man with a sharks head snapped his jaws angrily at tiny Cthulhus fluttering around his shoulders.
(more)Those weren’t mine, I thought.
But mine were there too. Jina, sketchbook in hand, hair fluttering in a breath of high desert wind she brought with her, Jeffrey the Flamingo, towering above everyone else, one fierce black eye on me. Small mirrors scattered on the floor, cracking, mending, growing legs and scuttling off to darker corners than the one we were in.
The Me I Couldn’t See, with a cow’s tail swishing under the skirt of her party dress, stood with her arms crossed and glaring, angry at being plucked from her probably-peaceful parallel universe.
Clocks bloomed like mushrooms from the walls, swelling monstrously and bursting, scattering a spore of tiny spinning compasses over everything.
The tornado siren continued to blare. Lightning struck the trailer, and a fire alarm began to scream as well. An almighty crash sounded outside, and through the swinging front door, veiled by bleeding rain, a broken blister appeared in the yard. From the crater, a twisting, twining tree climbed toward the shredded sky, unfurling black branches tipped with fleshy purple flowers. Lightning struck again, illuminating the tree as it continued to disgorge from the earth. Thunder cracked and growled, drowning even the sirens for a moment.
H.P. Lovecraft emerged from the throng of huddled creations, and said, “That’s only three Trumpets. What about the other four?”
Shrugging, She sat down on a vinyl-upholstered chair.
There were three Trumpets in the outline. Now, on to the Vials.
Slow and sore,
At the back of my mind
(more) It's a lot like you.
Both annoy me to no end
Making me hunt for a band-aid.
But then I swallow my ache
And I keep walking. (less)