Raleigh had the means to save the world from destructive force & glass-shard cuts.

But he couldn’t move. E’er.

There he sat on the cobbled steps o’ the Marvien Gardens like a marble statue, plates o’ porcelain & glasses o’ glass held in intricate spirals. Pigeons would perch on a cup’s rim, but he had to still himself gainst their heft. Itches would shoot through his skin, but he dare not scratch.

But despite his bold efforts, the public knew disaster would come ‘ventually. Some day a hard wind would come, a boy playing ball would bump into him, or he’d get tired.

Each citizen just hoped she was already dead before that dire night came.

Adalberto was so close…

Only 1 mo’ drink & he’d be able to rise to the next floor o’ the Eaves Tavern, where the jukebox music was heavier, the walls were made o’ metal ‘stead o’ painted wood, & the seat leather had comfortable tears.

But the mugs foamed with fluorescent foam, the bubbles zipped like rockets…

the heat o’ the blue flames…

Adalberto’s hand shook as he tried to lift to mug to his mouth, only to slowly drop it to take a breath. A spilt drop & it wouldn’t count.

He raised it to his lips & tilted it in 1 thick motion. He could feel the lava snake down his throat.

Then, like a stoner, he held his mouth & nose closed & gulped it all down.

He found himself surrounded by loud claps everywhere like wing flaps & whistles.

Then he felt below him rumble & then rise. He looked down to see the barstool’s neck stretching upward.

All Wai could see was that which was bubbling just round her in the light that gradually shifted from red to blue & back to red, & all the hue ‘tween, in a constant cycling circle–light so bright that it’d seer Wai’s eyes if she had any, so bright that she could barely see her companions.

She could do nothing but wait. She could do nothing but wonder what existed beyond the thick wall o’ light–if anything did.

Beyond that, she could only wonder when the Event would happen.

“The Event” was when the top would open & the sharp prongs o’ God would come in & take her up into the outside world–a world that both excited & frightened them all.

But she knew she couldn’t do anything, regardless. She could only wait & hope the outside offered something better than this.

September had to keep still in her floral cobalt camouflage. She eyed round herself & could see through the ligurian blinds sharp frog eyes & the sharper points o’ arrowheads.

‘Stead, she squirmed slightly down the mattress, millimeter by millimeter, without seeming to move her limbs @ all. Meanwhile her bovine pajamas soaked with sweat @ the prospect o’ being jabbed in the neck with the most toxic needle in all the realms.

Then her plan was botched by 1 unforeseen evil: a loose spring. When her feet reached it, they bounced high in the air. The millisecond she felt her feet bump it, she tumbled to the side, only to immediately feel 3 arrows pierce her back as she rolled off the mattress.

& there was where they still found her, petrified in plastic.

“¡Fucking hell!”

1 moment Feltis was baking ice cream, the next he was rushing through the blades o’ grass covering the back yard o’ his apartment complex to ‘scape from The Event.

The Event would happen @ any time, without warning. Suddenly one’s ears would be blasted with shrieks & their immediate surroundings would rise to boiling heat. If one wanted to survive, one fled with full speed.

Sometimes ’twas just a test to see if he was on his phalanges–but sometimes it wasn’t, & The Event was truly devouring whatever his home was @ that period in hungry flames. He dare not take any chances…

What made the game slightly harder was the fact that the basketball always released a vein-clogging scream whenever ’twas dribbled onto the the shiny steel floor. & then, e’en if one stopped dribbling, it’d keep whimpering on & on. The only way one could soothe it was to finally throw it into one’s opposite basket; however, this relief didn’t last long, for it’d always just land back onto the ground.

They tried everything: they put a soft cushion under the basket. But the cushion, in such a humid steel cave in which they all dwelled, would eventually sneeze & drop the basketball.

So they had no choice but to keep dribbling the basketball & tossing it into the basket, o’er & o’er, for eternity, just so the basketball could feel half a second o’ relief after every minute or so o’ agony.

It all started when the blueberry sauce seeped into the Indian Ocean, & then the Pacific, & then the Arctic—but not the Atlantic Ocean, that would be too many oceans—till they were surrounded by blueberry sauce & knights in plated armor on the left.

The problem was that when they mixed, they steamed with toxic rainbow gas that poisoned all the flies. With no mo’ flies, the spiders starved; & without spiders, they had no way to keep back the arachnophobia plated knights…

& that’s how the blueberry sauce smashed capitalism.

Feelings were nice, but reality was reality: the only player they could keep was the one who could play the notes that kept them on their feet.

Illuminada & Renay faced each other as they blew as hard as they could into their instruments, causing the music notes that composed their floor to rise, lifting them into the stars.

Then they started walking toward each other @ slow but deliberate steps, their eyes purely on their instruments. They didn’t need to watch their feet: they could predict perfectly where each note would be by the pitch & timing o’ their playing.

However, what neither had expected was that 1/8192 chance that a green pumpkin would jump out & devour 1 o’ them by surprise just near the climax, rendering all other strategies nugatory in 1 gulp.

The victor, Illuminada, looked on with a mouth twisted.

Feelings were feelings, but reality is reality: the fights are not ’bout honest skill, but the heavy cloud o’ unfairness & exploiting it when it left one’s airspace.

‘Twas a tough competition, but worth it.

Yasmin had to help ol’ men cross the 100-yard crosswalk while dodging SUVs, trucks, & motorcycles from both sides.

Talitha had to run through an aisle ‘tween 2 rows o’ papers & had to leave positive comments o’ a’least 10 words on each, & had to skim ‘nough o’ each so that her comments could be judged as relevant ‘nough.

Leopoldo had to throw as many dodge balls & European footballs into their proper yards when they landed in his as possible—which, while slow @ 1st, became hectic with ball after ball being accidentally knocked in round the last 10 seconds.

‘Twas left our contestants sitting back & panting, but that only made the gray May air mo’ refreshing—& always covered them in pangs o’ withdrawal when they inevitably had to go home.

So their solution was to cut up a kleenex to make a mask to cover Tom’s face from the sourness o’ the sunlight.

¿But in what pattern?

They had to cover as much as possible while still allowing Tom to see & breathe, for if either failed, he’d fail, & he’d ne’er stop & crash into the sky.

& the question remained: ¿who would brave walking right up to Tom’s face to paste the mask on?

Despite these problems, Tom was optimistic. With this new mask the only impediment to his connection with others would finally be severed.

O, was he wrong…