display | more...

The tiny balloon man eyed the birds beyond his windowsill suspiciously as he did the dishes, dishes for two. Dishes for three. Dishes all for free, dishes all for me, thought the tiny balloon man, his nostril whistling loudly as he watched the birds, their tiny voices mocking and threatening with avian malice thinly veiled by the outwardly sunshiny appearance of the songbirds that fooled the rest of society, the fools, they will deserve to die when the revolution comes.

Looking down the tiny balloon man saw a rusty tint to the dishwater in the stainless steel sink. Lifting his hands from the water he saw sebacious white fat at the bottom of a slice in his index finger. The white was quickly blotted out by red blood, spreading outward across his wet hands with a tendency to follow the tiny grooves and canals of his fingerprint. "Damn!" muttered the balloon man, seeing that it had been the left handed salad knife that turned upon its owner. Damn thing was ambidextrous to start, but the false advertising lawsuit never came through, those right handed bastards control the court system. The tiny balloon man wandered to the atrium, cursing the sunlight that poured angrily over him posing to be friendly while it obliterated his precious DNA and gave him skin cancer. "Damn stop codons, never coming through when I needed them. Damn staphylococcus infections, that's what they gave me this time isnt it!" The tiny balloon man stared at the wound in disgust, he had heard of staph infections. He rotated his arm at the shoulder, rapidly increasing the speed. He felt centrifical force pulling the blood into his hand. Faster! His hand throbbed with the pressure, the cut spraying blood. Yet faster the balloon man spun his arm, more and more blood spraying from the wound. A red ring of blood had appeared around the room, and the man's hand itched and throbbed with excessive blood pressure.

The tiny balloon man heard the doorbell ring, just as he felt his hand should surely burst. Scowling, the tiny balloon man made his way to the door and opened it. "Damn kids!" he yelled, sure that whoever had rung the bell was hiding in the bushes giggling. The soothing sound of a lawnmower running far away made him scowl momentarily. Just before turning to reenter his domicile the man noticed a smallish package in gift-wrap on his welcome mat. Upon removing the gift-wrap he discovered it to be a brick with a note wrapped around it. Scrawled in more or less regular handwriting it read 'Some people like cupcakes better. I for one, care less for them.'

The second brick quietly withdrew itself from the wall beside him, having loosened the bonds of the aged mortar that once chained to there over many long nights of miniscule vibration. Breathing patterns, the brick thought smugly to herself as she changed direction, driving herself into the base of the man's skull with all her might.

The tiny balloon man never saw the second brick coming. He heard a faint scraping and then a sound like a sledgehammer hitting a sidewalk covered by a few inches of sand. A tight feeling spread down his back, then gave way to a numb static over the left side of his body. He leveled out horizontally in the air. Fearing the drop, the man was relieved and grateful when the ground shot up to break his fall. "Thread count" he thought to himself. 'Thedfount.' He tried to say it, and quietly the tiny balloon man died.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.