The day the sky fell the man in the hat was at home patching a hole in his favorite sun-hat. He heard a thud then a hole where the sky used to be. He saw a flash of bright light, whiter than poached ivory and good teeth, then nothing. At that very moment the Liepaja Stepbrothers’ Dash Rambler came caroming round the corner, the eldest brother pulling the wheel to the left, the youngest brother holding on for dear life. With the sky having fallen, the brother’s Rambler looked like a bolt of lightening zigzagging across a blank horizon. Out the back window tumbled a loaf of Quaker bread and a half-pound of jellied pork, the Rambler kicking up a snowstorm of ashen dust. The car (which the Liepaja Stepbrothers bought at a Quaker auction for a song) bolted round the corner and disappeared up the sideways swerving, the stepbrothers wailing and yipping to beat the band. That was the last of the stepbrothers.
The next time anyone laid eyes on them they were having it out with the dogmen, the biggest dogman laying out the youngest stepbrother with one punch, the elder stepbrother poking a fichus stick into the smallest dogman’s eye, the other dogmen waist-deep in the aqueduct jigging for river cod. In the back, behind a fall of dead fichus’, sat a rusted out Buick Mackane, both side doors missing, the rear windshield caved into the backseat. The stepbrothers claimed it was theirs, the dogmen claimed that it belonged to their great granddad, the first dogmen to own a car. As there was no foolproof way to determine who owned the car, the dogmen and the stepbrothers decided the best way to lay claim to it was to beat the others heads clear in, which they did until night fell and both parties decided to call it quits. While out on one of his daily jaunts the shamble leg came across the rusted out Buick and kicked the front windshield clear through the backseat, saying as he did ‘…sure as I’m standing here the sky is going to fall, and none too soon by the looks of it…’.
The next time anyone laid eyes on them they were having it out with the dogmen, the biggest dogman laying out the youngest stepbrother with one punch, the elder stepbrother poking a fichus stick into the smallest dogman’s eye, the other dogmen waist-deep in the aqueduct jigging for river cod. In the back, behind a fall of dead fichus’, sat a rusted out Buick Mackane, both side doors missing, the rear windshield caved into the backseat. The stepbrothers claimed it was theirs, the dogmen claimed that it belonged to their great granddad, the first dogmen to own a car. As there was no foolproof way to determine who owned the car, the dogmen and the stepbrothers decided the best way to lay claim to it was to beat the others heads clear in, which they did until night fell and both parties decided to call it quits. While out on one of his daily jaunts the shamble leg came across the rusted out Buick and kicked the front windshield clear through the backseat, saying as he did ‘…sure as I’m standing here the sky is going to fall, and none too soon by the looks of it…’.
No comments:
Post a Comment