El Duende Pt 2/3

El Duende 2.jpg

First part here.

It turned out to be señoritos, rich land owners, who had killed them. They stopped by later that day, making a lot of threats, but no one could do anything.The killings continued. Every morning they found new bodies.

The Guardia Civil, the village military police, was no longer to be seen.

The next day Pedro went out to milk the goat again, but once again the goat was milked. This time the bucket was gone.

A bit confused Pedro looked around the barn. No milk anywhere, but the goat was empty. And there couldn’t have been anyone here. Could there?

So someone have been stealing our milk… That’s odd. It had never happened before. He was worried.

Every morning someone was found dead. The rich men from the city had said they would kill everyone who had voted against the old system. Pedro knew he was in danger.

Life went on, though. They never went anywhere in the night time, but he was worried of who had stolen the milk. The revolutionaries would not steal from him, he knew that. They were occupied taking down the ones in power.

This morning things seemed to be back to normal. He was going down to meet his cousin and some friends to talk about the situation. They couldn’t let people keep disappearing. He went to milk the goat before he left, and was picking up some utensils when he heard something behind him. He turned around.

He was astonished. He had never really believed in the gnomes, but there it was. The same little creature he’d seen the other day. It was real.

Hey! It said. You want some milk? He kicked the milk bucket over. Pedro looked at the milk on the floor…

What did you do that for?

The little creature glared at him viciously. Then he kicked the goat in the butt.

Hey stop that! What do you think you’re… The little gnome came running towards him. Kicked him in the leg. Why you little… Now he was getting angry.

He tried to kick it, but he missed. He tried again. The little soul less gnome was too fast. It picked up a log from the floor. Hit him in the ass with it. Pedro was really pissed now. He grabbed a long stick meant to be the handle for a broom.

Now you’ve done it, he said, hitting for the little man. Missing. All the time. The duende, on the other hand got it quite a few punches. After a long fight he was lying on the floor, exhausted. The little man was sitting on the bench laughing. Pedro was defeated He got up, limped out of the barn.

He walked down towards town. He saw a large group of people further down. They were talking, shouting. People were running up and down the slope. Pedro walked over, slowly, his whole body was hurting.

There were three bodies on the ground. One of them was his cousin. If it wasn’t for the fight with the little man, Pedro would have been one of them.

They just shot them down! Señor Gomez was terrified. Who will be the next? Who will be the next!?

Pedro’s mother was there, crying her eyes out. You have to leave, Pedro! It’s too dangerous here for you now!

Pedro knew she was right. He went home.

I have to go, he said to his wife when he arrived.

She said nothing, ran to the bedroom and started packing.

The same afternoon they left for the forest.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Spanish_Republic

http://vc.bridgew.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1265&context=jiws

The Way Things had Always Been

The Way Things had Always Been.jpg

Stop the thief! Stop the thief! Ragon reacted fast. He lifted his spear, jumped over the wagon between him and the market stairs. In mid air he stabbed the thief in the throat. She fell dead to the ground.

Ragon was a soldier. He protected law and order in the city. His job was mostly to kill people. People who murdered or raped. People who stole. People who kissed in public. Sometimes he did a mistake, but that was just the way things were, the way they had always been. No one questioned it. No one objected.

Marakara came running. Thank you soldier, he said. Thank you! He got the apples out of the dead thief’s hand. He could have bought new apples and it was uncomfortable to see the dead body on the ground, but the law was the law. Things were as they always had been. There was no other way. He never questioned it. He never objected.

One day a stranger came to town. A man from rocky mountains far away. His name was Tornag. He questioned. He spoke with words put together in ways no one had ever heard. Arguments no one could deny. Reason. People listened, started questioning themselves. Soon they objected.

Then things started to change.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conservatism

https://room5.wordpress.com/2009/06/03/the-way-things-have-always-been-done/

Anthropocentrism

Ceremony Pt 2/2

Ceremony 2.jpg

I’m so glad you could come, he said. He looked happy. In peace.

Did you do this? I asked him, though I knew. I liked to get a confession before I got started..

Of course. Isn’t it beautiful? Justice, my friend. You of all people should understand.

I looked at the body parts on the wall. This guy was sicker than any criminal I’ve ever found.

You killed an innocent little girl… I said it between my teeth. The anger was rising inside me. Hate.

No one’s innocent, John… No one.

I stood there, waiting for his move. Trying to look as defenceless as I could, so he would underestimate me when he decided to kill me. One of us was going to die tonight. It wasn’t going to be me.

I waited. Nothing happened.

He put his knife on the table. Bad move. A bit too bad. No time to think.

I did this to…

I attacked. Punched him in the face. He fell back, landed on the floor. I grabbed his knife.

You know you’re going to die, right? I said.

No answer. He was just looking at me, as if he wanted it. Maybe that was it. Maybe he wanted me to put him out of his misery. It bothered me. Not much punishment in that. I preferred the ones who begged for mercy. At least I was going to make it painful.

He didn’t scream. Whatever I did he never even moved.

When I had had enough of the torture, I lifted the knife. He looked at me.

Good luck, John, he said. Still smiling, the sick son of a bitch.

I cut his throat. His messed up face was still grinning, yet it looked more sinister now with his face all messed up and the empty, dead eyes, the open wound underneath it.

I needed to get out of there. The cops could be there any moment. Some neighbour might have heard the noise, though it probably was quite usual in this neighbourhood. This would be hard to explain. I turned around, took one last look at the macabre symbol on the wall. The face of the little girl was smiling as well. There was a strange glow from it. I got out of there fast.

Running down the road I felt different. Like I had changed somehow. I still had the same urge for justice, the same urge for avenging anything wrong in this world. I still felt like the good guy of justice I always had considered myself, but I saw things differently now.

Everyone was guilty. Especially the little girls.

https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/evolution-the-self/201402/don-t-confuse-revenge-justice-five-key-differences

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evil

Empathy

The Old Man who Knew

The Old Man who Knew.jpg

There was a great carpet dwelling above the world. Inside it. Around it. It was conscious, yet not intelligent. Awake, but it did not think. One, a spectre of selves, everywhere and nowhere. No one knew how it worked, not even itself. It was pure observation. It knew, but did not calculate. It felt, but did not care. It was existence. Reality. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The old man sat by the window, looking out on the valley he’d lived in all his life. He knew everything about that valley. Every little rock, every old tree stump. He loved it. The valley was the best place on Earth for him.

He walked out on the porch. Watching the little lake. He knew the little lake. He the kinds of fish swimming in it. He knew how to catch them. He knew how which berries there was in the forest on the other side, which mushrooms he could eat and which ones he could not. He sat down on his old stool, as he had done so many times before.

He knew a lot. He knew how the flowers bloomed at springtime. How the hills exploded in colours in autumn. He knew how it felt to love and he knew the pain of hate. He knew the arouse of glory, the deep sorrow of loss. He knew. He knew a lot.

A cat came by. He knew the cat.

Hello, little cat, he said cheerfully. The cat came to him, stroking itself to his leg.

You’re a friendly little chap, aren’t you! Said the old man. The cat purred, enjoying the old man’s company.

He did not know if the cat was a he or a she, but knew it was not important for him to know. The cat was his friend, and friends were good to have.

He was old now. Very old. He knew life was coming to it’s end, and he wasn’t sad about it. He’d lived. He’d had a rich life, with sorrows and laughs. He wouldn’t have been without any of them. Even the painful ones.

Today he was looking out on the field in front of his house. Something dark was hanging over the grass. Over the trees. And he knew. He knew his time had come, he’d lived for a long time now. And he knew there was nothing to fear. As death came, he closed his eyes and accepted. Time had come.

A little frog opened it’s eyes in a swamp in Amazonas.

https://kavarastories.com/2017/05/31/knowledge-unconsumed/

https://yashmody.wordpress.com/2016/12/26/self-consciousness-vs-self-awareness/

Fate

Air (Earth)

Air (Earth).jpg

Ronny was falling. He had a parachute on his back. He loved parachuting. He was going to pull the string quite soon, he just wanted to feel the wind in his face and the sensation of flying a little longer.

Hey!

What the…. Something was talking to him. Just beside his head.

Hey! You! Yes, you!

Who… what…. Who… There really could not be anyone there, he was ten thousand feet up.

You’re fallin’, aren’t you! Said the strange voice with genuine interest.

Where are you?

Right beside you, said the voice. Under you. Even inside you, really!

You are…. Air? Ronny almost had to laugh. This was just silly.

Bingo! I’m what making your clothes move so funnily right now, my friend. Air is the name. At your service!

But how come you talk? I never heard you talk before?

That’s because you didn’t listen. I’m quite a talker really. I shout when the storms throw your boats around, I whisper when the wind makes the leaves move in the trees…

This had to be the biggest discovery in history. But would anyone believe him? This could be his great chance, but he needed proof. Air kept chatting away.

…I even talk on a silent summer day, if you just listened close enough.  I talk a lot! Just ask Earth. There he comes. Hey, Earth! Tell hi…

Aaaaaaaaahsplacrash!!!

Tell him what? Asked Earth. Air was looking at the broken body on the ground.

Nothing. Never mind.

Earth looked at the stain on his skin, frowning in disgust and annoyance.

You talk too much, you know that?

Thanks, but it’s too late now. He can’t hear you.

http://www.thewhitegoddess.co.uk/the_elements/air.asp

https://keerthanagaganna.com/2017/05/31/trace/

Fire!

Water

Water.jpg

On an idyllic little lake deep in the forest there’s a little boat. The silence is only broken by the water splashing against it, the oars breaking the surface.

Ouch!

Mike stops. It came from under the hull. Is there someone there? The boat floats forwards for a short while. It stops, wagging in the small movements in the lake. He looks over the edge.

Be careful, stupid! Watch where you’re going!

There’s a little bulb in the surface of the water. It has a face. Mike’s eyes grow in astonishment..

What are you? He says in deep awe.

What does it look like I am, stupid? I’m water.

Water? Mike’s confused. But… but water doesn’t talk?

Water doesn’t talk, water doesn’t talk, the water mocks. Water talks when water fucking wants to talk. Thing is humans aren’t really that interesting for conversation,. but you pissed me off. Get lost!

It disappears. Not the water, of course. The face.

Mike is sitting there. The water just spoke to him. Was he going crazy? He’s trying to make sense of it all. He decides he cannot, and starts rowing in towards shore.

Ouch! He hears again. -That’s it, asshole. That’s it.

Mike looks over the edge. There’s nothing there.

I’m under here, coward! He leans further out.

A wave comes out of nowhere, knocks the boat from the other side. It goes round. Mike falls head first into the pond.

Get him, guys! The water creature things attack him. They punch him in the face with their water hands. It’s quite annoying. They keep splashing their fists in his face as he swims towards the shore. He gets up on the the bank.

And stay out!

Haha! The creatures slaps hand, satisfied with their victory. Yeah! Stupid human. We showed him, didn’t we. That’ll teach him a lesson. So they go on for a while.

They disappear, the surface is once again still.

Mike sits on the shore for a while looking at the lake. That was the strangest thing he’d ever experienced. Once again he shrugs it off, and walks up to his cottage. Probably better not to think too much about it.

https://artsurdo.wordpress.com/2017/02/28/agua/

https://aljathewriter.wordpress.com/2011/12/06/lady-of-the-lake-flash-fiction/

Lake Fear

Fire!

Fire!.jpg

The flames were licking the wood in the vividly burning fireplace. Silence. Everything was beautiful. Johnny was just going to relax tonight, he’d even switched off his phone.

The flames looked almost like living things, small creatures jumping around the black wood. They…. were little creatures! Johnny was astonished. Little monsters was running around, jumping, dancing. They had little heads, two feet and two arms.

He moved closer. What are they? One on them looked at him. Laughing. It was chopping on to the log with an axe of fire, seeming to form part of him, mixed together in the way of flames. It punched an other one, occupied digging his little claws into the wood, on the shoulder. The other turned. It seemed amused as well.

They jumped forward as if they wanted to look closer. Out of the fireplace, down on the wooden floor. Johnny was too astonished to really understand anything. They seemed to have some sort of intelligence, they seemed to be curious about him. They were standing there, contemplating him. Exchanging words or something between them. The wood underneath them was getting black. Smoke.

Fuck! Johnny reacted fast. He caught the ash shovel and tried to put them out. They jumped away, running around, ducking. They seemed scared. Johnny hit one of them. It disappeared like the flame of a blown out candle. The other dived back into the fireplace.

Phew! Said Johnny. That was close. He looked at the blaze. The little fire men were standing in the chimney talking eagerly to the burning log. There are more of them now.The wood chunks were burning harder. The flames rose. Johnny backed away a bit, his face was getting too hot. One of the creatures took a step towards him. Screams.

Little fire-creatures came running out of the chimney. They ran up the walls, the curtains.  Johnny turned towards the door. A face covered it. Dark and evil. Laughing. Around him danced hundreds of small creatures. They were singing now. He could hear their words, chanting, messing.

The king of flames has come to be, the God of flames has come.

His big, his hot, and there’s no escape. His big, his hot, and there’s no escape.

The God of flames has come.

Soon Johnny’s screams are louder. When the fire truck arrives the house is already burning to the ground.

https://theurbanspaceman.net/2017/04/04/firewall-flash-fiction/

http://www.santharia.com/alchemy/fire.htm

Like a Drop in the Sea

Defeat

Defeat

Sir Morgary lifts his sword. He’s won the battle, there’s no doubt about that. Sir Gregory is on the ground, defeated. But it’s not over.

Sir Gregory turns slowly. Morgary sees his eye. A look of defeat. Of hate. Once this man had been his friend. Together they had won battles, they had slaughtered and raped, drunk on victory. That is a long time ago.

He lets the heavy broadsword fall. Cuts his neck in one strike. Gregory’s head falls to the ground.

It’s still staring at him.

The rest of Sir Gregory stays on one knee.

Strange. Sir Morgary wipes the blood off his blade. He turns around and walks toward his horse. He was bringing news to his king. Now they aren’t all bad.

The saddle is a bit loose. He tightens it. He hears a sound behind him. A sound of chain mall moving. Metal scraping on metal.

There. The body has fallen. He turns around to have a last look at his kill before he leaves.

Sir Gregory is standing. His head still lies on the ground, still staring at Morgary. Morgary lifts his sword in disbelief. The lack of logic scares him. He knows how to handle fear. He attacks. Pierces his sword into the headless warrior’s chest. Through the metal. Straight into his heart.

His sword’s stuck. The decapitated body stands. The head on the ground starts laughing. First a giggle. Then stronger. It laughs like a madman as it’s body lifts his sword.

The sword goes down over Morgary’s right shoulder. It comes out under his left arm. A clean cut. He falls to the ground in two pieces.

Gregory picks up his head. He walks over to his dead opponent’s horse. Holds his head up, looking to the east. He jumps up on the animal and rides towards town. Vengeance will be his.

https://esoterx.com/2016/11/13/the-headless-hitchhiker-of-st-leonards-forest/

http://www.musikitty.com/headless_horseman.html

The Strange Nest

Ghost Train

Night Train.jpg

Jaques was sitting in the cockpit of the train looking forward. It was late night, and he couldn’t wait to get home. Find a good movie online, and just relax until he fell asleep.

Something strange could be seen in the distance. He stood up. At first he didn’t believe it, these things shouldn’t happen. But it was. Something was coming towards them on the tracks. Another train. It had no lights. He knew it was already too late.

Marie and Jerome had gotten a first class ticket. There was good food, and the seats was comfortable. They were sitting in front of each other. Jerome had gotten the better seat, the one facing the way they were going. An elderly lady was sitting beside him.

Finally! Said Jerome. I needed to get away now.

Me too, smiled Marie. This is going to be the best vacation ever!

Sure is. I love going on trains as well. Such a relaxing and safe way of travelling.

It’s not always safe, said the old woman. Jerome turned towards her. He had to concentrate not to laugh. Strange thing to say out of nowhere.

Why do you say that?

There was an accident here on this track many, many years ago. Said the old woman

Really? Answered Marie, ignoring the ridiculing look Jerome sent her.

Well, they say it wasn’t even an accident. She added.

What happened?

Two trains went opposite directions on the same tracks. They say it was an insurance scam. That the company did it on purpose, and they got away with it, too. Lots of people died.

That’s horrib….

Jerome fell forward. Marie’s food went flying. Suitcases were falling down from the luggage shelves.

Jaques was lying on the brake lever. Trains take a long time to stop. He was sure he was going to die.

Impact.

A man was throwing coal into an oven. His body was strange, like if they were crushed, ripped to pieces and put together again.

Time seemed to stop when Jerome was mid-air. Everything was changed. The wagon. The people. The furniture was older, the seats had leather cover. The walls were made of wood. A man and a woman were sitting in front of him where his girlfriend just had been. The man had a top hat on his head. His head was crushed, skin floating in the airs as textile under water. Bones sticking out. He was smiling. The woman by his side had a white dress. On some parts. One of her thighs could be seen. It was just a bone, broken into pieces.It was a horrible sight.

Reality came back. Like when you get your head out of the silence of the water. Jerome crashed into the seat in front. Marie’s food splashed out on her dress. The woman beside them fell on the floor. She screamed. Her arm was in a strange position, broken.

The train had stopped. Jerome looked over to the rest of the passengers. They were all as confused as him. The lady with the broken arm was moaning. Jerome was helping her up in her seat.

The driver came half falling into the wagon.

Did you see the…? He stopped. Their faces were as white as his. They’d all seen it.

Silence.

I guess we’ll have to get going, Jaques said after a while and went back into the locomotive. The train started slowly. Soon they were going again. No one spoke the rest of the journey.

http://www.everywritersresource.com/shortstories/ghost-train-by-grey-harlowe/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghost_train_(folklore)

His Grandpa’s Cabin

Liquid Ink

liquid ink

After her father died things had gotten worse. Her mother never let her out. Ever. She didn’t go to school. She didn’t have friends. Most of the time she was locked up in her room, like now. Her mother would unlock the door when she needed her.

Her only pleasure was to draw. To paint. The Ink. She wet the paper, as she always did. The contours of a tower took form in the glistening water. She dipped the brush in the ink bottle, took it down on the paper, moving it under the roof and down one wall where the darker areas would be. Then she let the ink flow.

She loved how it moved. It was like it had a life on it’s own, like if she was the spectator. It was magic. The tower came to life.

A girl appeared in the window. She hadn’t even planned for that. A face took form. It was her face. It was her.

Dark shadows floated around her. On the desk. In the air. It stained the walls. The ceiling.

She was sitting by a desk in a room of stone walls. There was nothing else in the room but an old chest. She was gone.

She heard someone crying. A weep of deep, bottomless sorrow, a cry of loss of loved ones and despair. The door was open.

There was a steep, winding stone staircase going down.

It was dark. She walked slowly, following the sound. She saw light coming out from under a door further down. She heard voices. Noises. Someone shouting. She knew that voice. Her mother. She couldn’t tell the words, but knew to whom ever she was shouting at, the words would be hurtful. She passed the door, down the dark staircase.

She kept following the stairs. Another door. This one was open. She saw her father, dead on the bed. Her mother standing besides him with a knife in her hand. Her back towards her. She turned. Looked right at her. She closed the door and ran.

On the bottom of the stairs there was darkness. She heard the crying clearly now. It was her father. She moved slowly, carefully. So much pain. So much sorrow.

Father? She said. Is that you?

Her eyes were adapting. Her father was sitting on the floor. Someone was lying beside him.

Why didn’t you leave, he said. Sadness. Despair.

A light came on. A small flame in an alcohol lamp. She saw herself lying there. She held a rose in her hands. Her throat was cut.

You have to go. Now! His back still towards her.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t move.

He turned. His face was twisted. Tortured.

Run!!! He screamed. She turned. Her mother was there. Floating, like liquid. Changing form. Dark, grey and black forms of evil. Laughing. The forms filled the room.

She ran. She ran down a long hall. The walls were changing. Twisting. She could hear her mother’s evil laughter. Behind her, in front of her. Everywhere. A light. She ran towards it. Another door. It was closing. She threw herself at it.

She fell into the daylight. Turned around, fast, as to defend herself. She saw their house. She was back in the real world, in their yard. The shadows were gone.

Jane? Her mother’s voice from inside the house, upstairs.. She was angry. Jane, where are? I told you to stay in your room! How did you get out, anyway?

She got up and ran without looking back. She never returned.

http://www.kongregate.com/games/TheGameKitchen/the-last-door-chapter-1-the-letter

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ink

Domestic Violence

Fate

Fate.jpg

He hated crows. They were always picking on him. Literally. His eyes were long gone. They sat on him. Shat on him. Mocked him in his failure of what he was meant to be.

For many years he’d stood there. He’d never moved a toe, he didn’t even have one. He had no possibilities. No hope. The crows were eating his head.

A crow was sitting on his shoulder right now. Nibbling on his neck. Sticking it’s beak into a hole where his ear would have been, pulling out the straws that would have been his brains. That’s when it happened. One of his fingers moved.

After all this years, he moved a finger. He looked at his hand. This was the biggest moment in his existence. His hand shot out, caught the bird by it’s neck. The other crows flew away. They hadn’t expected this.

The crow fell to the ground, his hand connected to it. It was shaking. He saw his arm (yes, with no eyes, that’s how scarecrows with consciousness work), long, glittering in the light, moving like a… snake. It crawled out of the glove. It was a snake. The scarecrow watched as the snake devoured the crow slowly.

He couldn’t move, after all. Stupid thing to believe, anyway. He was a scare crow. Things were better, though. He had a friend.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Destiny

http://www.damncoolpictures.com/2014/04/scary-scarecrow.html

Prophetic Poetry

Perspective

Perspective

I need to run. The fast metal things killed my brother. He’s back there, crushed on the hard ground. Humans everywhere. Everywhere. Nowhere to hide. So I run. I run close to the walls so the humans will not kill me.

One screams. Another has a stick. Pain. I get away. Cross the street. More metal things. I jump away, get over to the other side. A hole in the wall. I enter.

Am I safe? Different smells. Food. Humans. Hunger. I need food. Follow the smell. A bucket. Food. Meat. Vegetables. It’s even rotten. I eat. I see humans in a distance, but my hunger is greater than my fear. I keep eating.

Something cuts into my back. I turn. A human cut me. He lifts his hand. The sharp thing in his hand. I attack. Bite him. He screams. I run under a bench. Shouts. Humans running around.

A rat! It bit me!

Kill it! Kill it!

I’m trapped. I run for the door. The humans jump away in fear. They fear me. I don’t know why. I‘m running for the door. I’m doing it. I’m making it. Just a little bit further.

Teeth sink into my flesh, shake me, throw me into the air. I hit the ground. The wounds are deep. My neck feels strange. Broken. Last thing I see is the dog attacking a second time.

http://ratbehavior.org/perception.htm

https://anorthernnarrative.com/2017/04/23/i-blame-alfred-hitchcock/

Death to the Metal Monster

Headache

headache

As I mentioned yesterday, I hit my head the other day. This is what happened:

There was a party. People were laughing, drinking, generally having a great time. Most of us were pretty drunk, myself included.

I ran up the staircase, not looking very well where I was going. I hit my head on an edge going out over the corner of the staircase. The impact brutally sent me down the stairs. Everything went black.

When reality came back, everything was different, somehow. Strange creatures everywhere.

Are you OK? One of them asked, trying to touch me. I got terribly scared, of course, and punched it in the face.

Stay away from me, you disgusting things! I shouted, and ran upstairs. There there were more of them. Horrible monsters, wanting to kill me, eat me, or whatever monsters do. Rape me, maybe. I did see tentacles. I punched another one. Some of them were screaming horrible sounds. I grabbed a pair of scissors from a table.

Stay away, i screamed in total panic. Leave me alone! I was crying now. What had happened?

Hey man, calm down, a horrible being with it’s eyes sticking out of it’s head and horns in it’s forehead said and wanted to grab my arm with it’s hideous claws. I stabbed it.

He cut me! It screamed, repugnant foam coming out of it’s mouth..

Stay away from him, another said. He’s crazy!

They were playing with my mind, these grotesque demons. Two others were coming at me, slowly, breathing evil from their nostrils.

Calm down, Fict. You need to relax.

I turned and ran for the window. Threw myself through it, glass splintering everywhere. I fell three floors down to the pavement. My head broke open, and blood was pouring out on the ground. People were screaming from the window. People. Not monsters. I heard my girlfriend shouting something in despair. The voices of several friends of mine as well.

I think I might have wrecked the party, I thought before everything went black and I died.

OK, maybe not exactly what happened, a couple of things might have been exaggerated a bit. The rest though, are lies.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Head_injury

http://www.webmd.com/brain/what-are-hallucinations

Existence

Pests

Pests

Brownie was looking out of the hole in the wall.

It’s coming this way!

Don’t worry, said Daddy. The trap should take care of it.

I think it’s sad, though, said Spot. They seem quite intelligent.

They’re dangerous, my love, said Mommy. They would kill us if they had the chance. Just look at the size of it.

Not so many generations ago, the tall ones were the ones to kill rats all the time. The mass instinct ion of our species has made us strong. Now the tables are turned.

Is it true that our ancestors didn’t even speak? Said Brownie.

It is true, said Daddy.

But what happened?

No one really knows, said Mommy. We seem to have evolved out of need. Humans tried to exterminate all the rats in the world. They almost did, too. But nature has it’s ways sometimes. For generations only the most intelligent rats survived. Then everything changed.

Now humans are the pests, and we have one in our house.

A smack was heard outside of the hole.

And now we don’t.

http://www.futuretimeline.net/blog/2014/02/4-2.htm#.WQL6bTclGCc

https://richardankers.com/2016/09/12/of-mice-and-guns/

Deep Sea Adventurers