The blue edge of the blade swept across the desert dunes
beyond, towards we dusty punks.
Clouds piled up beyond the mountains to the East. These mountains were a barrier to my home in
the east. Someday I would cross
them. I would follow a long forgotten
wagon trail toward the rising Sun, to the eastern coast. You know, them old Conestoga trails led to the West back in the day.
An island in a mighty river awaited me.
My Island…
my River…
my Home.
No Home by
Stukenberg
Them clouds filled up with hatred against us. They piled up and sent tendrils and fingers
down the valleys and crevasses of the Sans Joking Mountain Range.
They rumbled and tumbled until they filled the bright blue sky
over the dustbowl and they blotted out the angry Sun.
The blue flame of Mayhem’s mane glowed brighter now.
Sometimes it has to be dark to see the light, you know.
I looked back at them young men who held the punk down and
said, “Anybody got a light?”
The sky above shrieked in response. Lightning flashed and it blinded us as the
cabin’s roof exploded. We fell flat in
the dust, ears ringing from the shockwave. Yup, that old cabin caught fire and
began a stately burn.
Big Bryan was
the first up. He was always like that;
ready for a fight at the drop of a thundering bolt.
(My apologies to you my friend, I appear to be fighting with
the tale again. It’s taken many rewrites
since Saturday.)
Rrrrrghhh.
A Hundress Mie by
Nicky PH
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
---willies out.
.
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