“I know it’s up here somewhere.”

“Be careful, Otha.”

But ’twas too late. 1 o’ the Mahogany Rats spilt butter all o’er the top shelf, which caused Otha’s hand to slip & bump her idea off onto the floor to shatter into shards, its inside diodes blinking slowly till it finally fizzled out.

Both Otha & Gilda stared down @ the debris, pupils sunk-in.

But Otha only shook her head & reached for the broom. As she began sweeping the glass into the dustpan, she said, “Mo’ where that came from.”

Time’s ticking.

It’s time to make a decision…

He pored o’er the pages a million times, but the missing clue still wouldn’t appear.

He pored o’er the pages a billion times, but still couldn’t decide.

Then he looked up @ the clock with astonishment, & looked back down to see the long gray beard he’d grown. The picture o’ the pack o’ playing cards was burnt into his mind, as well as the price, “$5.99.”

But in his mind, he calculated that his own mind had raised the price a billion times higher…

People like to claim that the land o’ earth in the south illegally left the Realm o’ Balance, but the truth locked ‘way by the Manestream Media is that the Northern Winds blew our island ‘way.

They claimed that they had moral qualms with us enslaving the magicians with polygonal magic—¡all while those hypocrites enslaved the golems to build their subways under the strings o’ their coupons!

No, the only qualms they had was the power we were close to unleashing…

Ardath grumbled to himself, This’ll take fore’er. Why can’t I just use the machine…

He kept swinging his whip, cursing below his breath when he saw 1 o’ the Sponge Muttons gallop in the opposite direction in which he wanted it to go.

Still so many spots were covered in tomato sauce—spots that he just couldn’t get the Sponge Mutton to move o’er.

“That’s it,” he grunted as he climbed o’er the fence.

Bad idea. He march toward the spot with a leaky rag in-hand was halted when he saw the Sponge Mutton all gallop toward him.

All that was left o’ him were the echoes o’ his screams. He was completely scrubbed out.

If Oak wanted to get its sap back, it had to sneak into the maple plant—& the only way to do that was by disguise.

Luckily, Oak was good @ sneaking up on people. When they weren’t looking, it’d just creep toward them, going closer & closer when they weren’t looking till ’twas right ‘hind them without them noticing. Then it’d clock them with its arm to knock them out.

It did so to a guard & stole its clothes. No one would e’er be able to tell Oak from the other guards with a uniform on.

& that’s how Oak smashed the maple plant, & then capitalism just for the hell o’ it.

Sheila knew there was only 1 proper way to prepare the Puma King’s dessert. She knew the air bubbles had to be perfect, or they’d sour the whole system.

So she spent whole sunsets reconstructing the tidal palms so that they would sway in steady motions o’er the coast. Though she bit her tongue on many a misstomp, the wrinkles were worth it: after a moon cycle she watched its work tightly & saw the foam build perfectly.

Now ’twas time to spread it throughout the whole ocean.

Gertaro pressed a paw on the big green button & heard the spinning tape say:

“If you e’er want to see your family stash o’ girasol, bring it to the playground after midnight tonight.”

Gertaro chattered his teeth @ a millisecond rate as he reached a paw into the saw dust under his bed & pulled out a miniature water gun.

He ne’er needed to use it. Kad had kept his word & tossed the bag o’ girasol o’er to Gertaro’s feet as Gertaro handed him

& that’s when the recording ends.

The derby flapped in the wind, as ’twas s’posed to. It needed to: it had steam to release.

In the core o’ the tipi raged a fire that ne’er slept, & whose splaying fringes pulled the turbines which pulled the other turbines, which pulled the other turbines, & so on, which spun the tipi’s wheels & pushed it onward.

& onward it had to go, if it wanted to continue being able to go @ all. On its skirt spread the shadows o’ its pursuant: the spike-studded yurt.

But his horror—1 that made his teeth chatter e’en mo’ harshly than usual—began when he felt the sharp worm begin piercing into his back, wiggling & digging itchily.

Then mo’ came, & spread ‘long his back. No matter how much he tried to squeeze ‘way, the unfamiliar mechanism—the 1 that snatched him in 1 second when he wasn’t looking—held him back.

Then he felt alien noises right up to his ear, soft like tides but deep like caves.

Then, for 1 second, the mechanism let him go, & he bolted ‘way & ne’er came back.

People always wondered why Tom only e’er rode during the night.

Unfortunately, 1 fateful Thursday the 19th, they’d learn the awful truth…

Tom chugged in cool sweat during the last cracks o’ the evening to make it to the station before sunup, after a delay caused by piles o’ bamboo left on his tracks.

He made it to the station just as a thin light o’ yellow began to rise from the tops o’ the eastern mountains. Tom bit his lips as the people stepped off & dispersed, keeping his face crouched under the shade o’ a fir.

However, it wouldn’t be safe for long: soon the sun moved the shade, revealing his face to the world: a hideously wide plastic slasher smile that couldn’t move no matter how hard he tried, won from necessary surgery after smashing into a rock wall years ago.

Now people dispersed much mo’ quickly…