titles are a bourgeoisie tendency

Mr. Crocodile Eyes and lion’s mane

He’s tapping a pen on the table

What a nasty little secretary; I wish he’d go away

Does he have to watch me with those almond eyes while

The Royal Child leers over

No need for that jackal like stare

I caught the contamination within hours

Not much of it got to the public.

None, as far as they know.

Not like this barren plant cares

The Royal Child wasn’t born to care

or we know he wouldn’t be sitting there.

Not like there is life here to hurt with a spill

As if there were people who could become ill

I wouldn’t be here if I could instill

Humanity in this plant.

But glancing at the Royal One

Mr. Crocodile Eyes taps his pen on the table

I don’t respond well to that

I wonder what else he knows

I wonder now, if he is able

To discover anything

Why does he look hungry?

Does he know how the sands of the deserts call me

And I call this desert to sand?

I think he does.

And I’m finding it hard to explain why

The exact reason I sat by

and watched all the toxins fly

into the air

For hours.

But harder it is to explain

How this office still stands--

And harder it is to explain

the rising of the sands

That swirl about me now,

As if they were somehow

Drawn from the back of my mind

And it’s hard to explain the Royal One becoming undefined

Dissolution

His face is familiar. Wait. No it's not. Is it? (How am I suppose to know.)

Maybe you've seen him before on the way to work. (You don't have a job.) No, I do have a job, I do work. I'm a lab assistant at the college lab, the study of change is so fascinating -

(Study of matter. See, you're not a lab assistant after all.)

No, I wasn't finished talking-

(He's talking.)

Who?

(The man with the familiar face.)

But who is he?

The words are incomprehensible. They're English, there's no doubt about it, but the order of the words creates no logical sense. Not even real sentences, the single words leaving his mouth to his audience consisting of me and the air. Compounds. Sky. House. Dog. Elements. Ice cubes. Pizza. Lady bug. Lectin. Pizza. I know you're a scientist. Russia. I know you. Bonds. You're favorite color is purple. Watermelon. Pizza. Aiden. He stops speaking and looks directly at you, a dead silence talking over the confused air, as if the mysteries of the universe are forming in your mouth. (I thought we already determined you aren't a scientist.)

"I don't respond to that." I wonder what else he knows-

His face is gone. You are sitting. The chair is more or less comfortable, maybe a little more back support and it would be a fine chair indeed. Where are you? Where is the familiar face?

(Pizza.) What about it? (You had pizza on your mind.) Only because the familiar face was talking about it. (Was he?)

You don't respond to that. (Your face is adorable when it's confused.)

The chair is suddenly uncomfortable, the metal burning from the brutality of the sun in the battle of the cool against the fire. Sweat appears to be running down you're face, maybe from the heat but the heart slamming into your ribs begs to differ. (Oh calm down.) Easy for you to say. (I wouldn't go that far.)

Your phone is in your hand, you're memory searching for numbers, any numbers, that will explain what is happening. (It might be helpful if you can remember your passcode.) Not helping. You move your fingers across the screen, perhaps the motion will cause the numbers to reappear in your mind. (Well opening the camera app will help you.) Shut up. (Make me.)

You look down at the phone in your shaking hands. The familiar face is back. (Cats out of the bag now.) Your heart beats faster and your ears pick up on uneven breathing. (Don't bother throwing the phone in some sort of "frightened" state. We always knew this was a risk. Try not to act so surprised.)

Who are you!

(You.)

All Knowing Chupacabra Schwarma

I wake up.  I’m in my Hello Kitty onesie, and my stomach’s growling for chow-chow.  What a shock.  (Insert sarcasm here)  As I walk outside to begin my quest of scavenging for food…(at the local Ralph’s) I stumble into an ominous-looking cave that just so happens to have an automatic magical ramen cooker… those are quite rare nowadays.  Sitting on a log in the middle of the cave is the ONE.  The ONLY.  THE CHUPACABRA.  

“You’re real?!” I cry.

“UHHHHH….DUH.” He responds with a look of impatience etched across his brow.

“Can I call you Chupie???” I ask.

“Heck no! I am THE ALL-KNOWING CHUPACABRA!!” he retorts with much sass.

“Oh okay…my name’s Sophie” I respond timidly.

“Yeah.  I know.” he says.

“HOW’D YOU KNOW THAT?!” I exclaim in surprise.  “I bet you don’t know anything else about me.”

“I know you like ramen and are on level 647 of your Candy Crush Saga.”

(Oh dang…. I don’t respond to that. I wonder what else he knows…)

“So, how tall are you anyways?” I nonchalantly ask.

“I am five feet tall” he responds after gulping down his goat..errr…juice.

“HAHAHAHAHA I’m a ¼ of an inch taller than you! GO ME!!” I cheer.

After giving me a stern look to silence me, the all-knowing chupacabra stares into my soul and recites the long long long long rant about how no one appreciates him and how the folks in Lena, Mississippi can’t pronounce his name.

After finishing his monologue, he commands me to go back into civilization and tell his story to the world.  I say “Sure” and he then kicks me out of his cave so he go eat schwarma by himself.

I slowly walk away, bringing out my ramen turtle capabilities.  After walking for about a mile, I turn around to wave goodbye to the all-knowing chupacabra, but he has disappeared, along with the cave and all its magicality.  Was this whole experience real? Or did I come up with it when I was writing a story at 10:47pm last night? No one will ever know…