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Saturday, July 22, 2006
After years of combat - the worms eating Phyllis Smith prize peonies, Phyllis Smith firebombing the worms, the worms counter-attacking Phyllis Smith's award-winning eggplants, Phyllis Smith dropping the worms in a blender full of gazpacho, the worms retaliating on Phyllis Smith's county-wide famed chives, Phyllis Smith pouring arsenic down the throats of hapless POWs - a never-ending story of carnage and despair on both sides, wiser voices in the worm community finally sought to put an end to the bloodshed.
"Let's reach out to Phyllis Smith," they said amongst each other, "in a gesture of friendship with a conciliatory message of peace."
An idealist perhaps, Maximilien volunteered his penmanship. He, like many others, believed that Phyllis Smith would respond to his amicable "hi" with her own missive of armistice.
The shock came when Phyllis Smith retorted that she would "do whatever it takes to get rid of the message's author."
Maximilien knew he was a marked worm. Friends suddenly shut their doors on him, even family avoided him at breakfast. Every time Phyllis Smith came into the garden, he cowered under a pile of dirt, half expecting death to pounce on him. He prayed that his would be a quicker one than that of the wretched Gazpacho Five.
The agony of those terrible moments slowly gave way to a new feeling in the fugitive worm's breast. As he passed the days alone, his fear turned to rage, and with the brewing rage came courage. Maximilien figured he had nothing to lose and so began his campaign against this destroyer of worms.
One morning, Phyllis Smith got down on her knees to pull up the carrots. The nearby scarecrow, an eviscerated rabbit buzzing with flies, had done its job in horrifying the neighbourhood lagomorphs. Phyllis herself was thinking only of the carrot garnish for her weekly ham roast.
She yanked out a carrot and brushed off the dirt. She shuddered.
There, along the length of the carrot, were the words, Your time draws nigh, Tyrant!
Phyllis Smith froze, then threw the vegetable over her fence in a panicked motion. Taking in a deep breath, she told herself that she had not really seen what she thought she'd seen.
Get a hold of yourself, she demanded.
Then she reached for another carrot. Snatched from the ground, the carrot bore the words, Beware the cauliflower! She stifled a scream and looked around her. She saw no one. Collecting her senses, she suspected the moles. The little trench diggers would get it.
The following day, while Phyllis Smith flooded the mole holes with Moletox, Maximilien, with the help of Phyllis Smith's treacherous zebra finch, infiltrated the her household.
After he completed his work, he scaled the tropical beach wallpaper to watch from the brass chandelier.
The hours seemed to stretch into oblivion, as Phyllis Smith plopped onto her black vinyl couch, The Meat Cook Book on her lap, flipping through the pages, disappeared, then returned with a plate of Jiffy Cheesefurters. The Cheesefurters were coupled with a Cotto Tree, a tower of the previous day's ham curled in rosettes around stuffed green olives and cauliflower "foliage."
The zebra finch had not lied. Maximilien's plan was working.
Phyllis Smith raised a forkful of frankfurters to her mouth, the grease glossing her lips. Maximilien watched, not daring to breath. Then Phyllis Smith plucked a cauliflower off the Cotto Tree. She brought to her mouth and - for a moment, Maximilien lost hope - she paused. Then she read.
I am watching you.
Her screams were heard all over the neighbourhood.
OMG. I swear I didn't read this before making my blog post today... tomato greetings must be more common than you'd think...
Thank you, all, though I have no idea where this sort of thing can get published. Newsweek? Is there any any outlet for my sort of writing than just a blog?
As for you, Rurality...
I'll try more like this, Goddess Spiral, as soon as there is time and inspiration. Thank you for reading!Post a Comment