a washed out dinah shore halo

Let some other sucker sleep in my grave, I whispered to Annabelle as she swabbed tranquilizer into her ears, this is the digging hour and I cannot keep the peace. The children had taken to a game called Lightning Rod, in which one child was the aforementioned Lightning Rod, and so yells "LIGHTNING ROD!" once in a while which sends the other children to scurry, but beyond that the rules are a blur, and I'd trade my first edition signed copy of Leviticus to understand how this game works. I attempted to bribe the children with mouth-treasures (a double-pupiled glass eye, a lock without a keyhole, a stone taken from the stomach of Og (who clung to the roof of the Ark to survive the flood) which seems to take the exact shape of the comet Kohoutek and even one of my most prized possessions, a lapel pin given me by the students reading HIRTUS PODEX, but not a one of them would give up an answer. Child-beasts! Oh how long must I stay here? How long must I bide my time with these devil spawn before I can seek a simple solace in Annabelle's arms?


doriandra said...

more, more.. i am hooked like a scrawny junkie..

db said...

Thank you so much! Sometimes I'm not sure if the stuff I'm doing fits with Discharge, but I figure I'll just keep going until someone makes me stop.

Blog Archive