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Flower-headed critter grants  me my wish

Flower-headed critter grants me my wish

I got in my time-machine and went back in time about 200 million years ago. My Casio Deluxe Timer 2100 is precise in time up to 1,375,000 years in the past and 112,000 years in the future. Anything beyond that is shaky. It’s a we’ll see where we end up dice-shaker.

The Timex Triple-Timer 180000 is spot on to a nano second to anytime in the past or future. But it costs a lottery amount of money I don’t have yet. I have high time hopes!

Anyway, I got out of my time-machine about 200 million years in the past. No buildings. Hazy skies. A great deal of burbling swamps. Vast wing-spanned creatures circling the skies. A lot of ants going places. Ants back then look like ants now. Ants are common in the future too. They’ve got those wowzer genes built for the long haul.

I came upon a Triceratops nibbling on a beat up bush. Back then anything tree-like looked like it had been in a fight.

I love Triceratops. They’re it for me dinosaur wise. They have a built in crown that looks like the creature is part flower.

I turned on my Casio WATS? 12 (What are they saying?) It turns what you say into what the listener understands, and the same thing for the things they utter.

I said hi to the Triceratops. It told me its name was Camperbittyboo. It asked me where I was from. I said a distant land. Animals and reptiles don’t understand time. Actually you want to avoid trying because it frustrates critters and they try and eat you so you stop talking.

Critters are intuitive and Camperbittyboo asked if I would like to ride on its back. That’s all I’d been thinking about. But I’m not good at expressing my needs. I figure everything knows what I want. I’m patient and can wait a long while. I’m still waiting for God to give me the ability to walk on water. I figure that’s all I need to hit the big time.

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Odd Occurrence in the Desert

Odd Occurrence in the Desert

My car busted down driving through Arizona. I tried calling roadside assistance but I couldn’t get a signal. I lifted the hood and looked at the engine. I said, “Car, what’s wrong?” The car was silent.

I looked out at the desert. I looked back at my car and it was gone. I looked all round and nothing. The temperature dropped, the wind picked up, and it started to rain. I began to shake.

I saw a big cactus in the distance. I ran towards it seeking shelter. The running warmed me.

I got to the cactus and leaned against its trunk, avoiding the needles. The wind and rain were blocked. But my clothes were soaked and I began to shiver. I soon began shaking so much that I accidentally bumped into the needles.

I looked back at at the freeway and saw my car. It was parked in the same spot before its disappearance. Smoke was coming from the exhaust pipe. I ran back to my car.

The car was running. I opened the door and got in. The heat was turned on. I warmed up and my shivers stopped.

I said, “Car, where did you go?” My car said, “I didn’t go anywhere.” I said, “You stopped and then disappeared.” My car said, “I was tired. I took a nap. Are you okay? It looks like you have some blood on your shirt.”

I lifted my shirt and saw that the cactus needle wounds were red and a little swollen. Plus they itched. I put a little spit on my finger tips and applied them to my hurts. The itching went away.

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Engulfed!

Engulfed!

I woke up to flashing and flickering lights. I looked out the window and saw the tree was on fire. I ran outside, turned on the hose, and sprayed the tree with water. The fire didn’t dim. I kept watering.

The flames were intense. But I noticed the tree wasn’t being hurt. It was like the tree was emanating a massive scrambling halo.

I shut off the water. I got really close to the tree. I put my hand in the fire. I didn’t get burned. I hugged the tree. The flames were warm.

I backed away from the tree. The flames engulfed me. I ran around my backyard and the flames trailed off me like a cape. I called myself Fireman.

A raccoon, opossum, a family of mice, and a badger ran skipping behind me.

I got tired and lay down on the grass. The animals ran back and forth over me, squealing their sounds.

I fell asleep.

I woke up in the morning. The flames were gone. Even though I was just wearing a night shirt, and my skin and clothes were covered with dew, I felt warm.

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Giving the eye

Giving the eye

I dug a hole. I got in and sat down. I liked the coolness of the earth. The silence was profound.

A crow landed on the edge of the hole. The crow said, “What are you doing?” I said I was taking it easy. The crow said, “Are you tired?” I said I wasn’t.

The crow said, “Do you see any worms?” I said I didn’t. I did see some worms. Three actually. But I didn’t want harm to come to them.

The crow said, “Are you sure?”

I said I was.

The crow gave me the eye. That’s their specialty. Plenty folk fold in on themselves and do a crow’s bidding when they get the eye.

I looked at the space between the crow’s eyes. It’s something my dad taught me. He said it’s a way to meet someone’s gaze when you think it might be too much. It keeps you from looking away.

The crow was overcome by my stare. It looked away and flew off.

One of the worms said, “Thanks, that was very kind of you.”

I said, “No one wants to be anyone’s lunch.”

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The duck and its needs

The duck and its needs

There was a knock at the door. I answered it. A duck looked up. I asked what it wanted. The duck asked why I hadn’t been to the lake tossing the bread crumbs. I said I’d been busy. The duck asked what I’d been doing. I said I’d been doing a lot of things.

The duck asked me if I had breadcrumbs. I said I had bread. The duck asked if he could have some. I asked if he wanted it plain, or with peanut butter. The duck’s eyes lit up and he said with peanut butter. I asked the duck to wait.

I went into the kitchen. I came back with a plate of two slices of peanut butter bread. I set the plate on the ground. The duck looked up and said thanks.

I closed the door. I sat down at my desk and wrote about what happened.

There was a knock at the door. I got up and answered. It was the duck. He had finished the meal. He asked me what I was doing. I said I was writing about my encounter with him. He asked if he could read it. I invited him in.

He read what I’d written. He asked if I would add the part about him coming in and reading the story. I said yes.