Surfer On The Drift

From today:

The approaching form had the same features as most Hangmen.  Eyes on the side of the head, a nose like a beak that couldn't decide between being flesh or bone so it was a little of both, and underneath the snout, a lipless mouth, packed full of sharp tiny teeth.  And from head to toe, including the tiny useless T. Rex arms extending from the torso and the claws jutting out from the top of each wing, someone had slathered the beast in a mixture resembling roofing tar.  Basically, it looked like Satan's idea of a pet bird. 

Surfer On The Drift

From today:

And then I was right on top of them.  Surfing right at them, imminent collision with a little boy ghost proof positive their day of indignities was seemingly without end. 

Surfer On The Drift

From today:

     Lips like worms that had not budged in millennia cracked, revealing black teeth and white gums.  A grin in a grim throne room sending ripples through the castle floor down into the orbiting abyss like vibrations through a tin can phone, pleasure converting into sound, a rhythm, a ghoulish vibration, a wake-up call to the slumberer in the deep.       

Surfer On The Drift

From today:

     I counted it off in my head the way Dawn said she used to count off how fast her hangovers were fading.  Her barometer was first standing and then counting how long it took before she either puked or lost her balance and fell down.  Dawn counted the seconds off by adding a beer to the number.  One-beer, two-beer, three-beer, four-beer, etc.    

Surfer On The Drift

From today:

On top of the broad shoulders, light spun like four people seated on a merry-go-round had been issued flashlights, each one a different color, and once thumbed to an 'on' position, the playground rides spin had been initiated courtesy the physics defying might of a god. 

Surfer On The Drift

From today:

He stared at the now unoccupied neck stump beside him like it was a stage hosting riches unimaginable, invisible to any and all but his educated eye.

Surfer On The Drift

From today:

Inside the hive, I didn't last long.  I must've stuck out like a dribble of white glue on a piece of black construction paper.

Surfer On The Drift

From today:

    In 5th grade, Denny and I had witnessed a sub named Mr. Luoto get so angry with a whiteboard marker - it had no ink left in the little brushy tip - he snapped the marker in half.  A marker.  Like a sharpie marker, one of those super-solid plastic encased markers.  Just bang.  Done.  Luoto was just a little unassuming looking guy, too.  From that point forward, we were simultaneously excited and terrified when we heard he was in the teacher on-deck circle.