Uncle Slappy's Quest for Monkey
Reaching for your pocket and the phone, you shift your weight too quickly and tumble to the slick, bloody floor of the diner and come face to face with the woman who had given you coffee as her last act on Earth. From the looks of her, you assume she had been much prettier a few minutes earlier.
These thoughts are suddenly replaced by a competition of severe, sharp pains throughout your body...each trying to outdo the other for intensity and you feel yourself lose control of your nervous system. The throbbing in your ears, the smoke in your eyes from fires ignited throughout the diner and in the parking lot, the glass imbedded in your back and neck...it all combines to rob you of your sense. While still alive, the pain is too great too move and you slowly lose consciousness.
In your half-dazed state, you hear sounds that you would normally associate with the jungle coming from the parking lot. Higher in pitch than the roaring of the fires and the inferno originating from uncle Slappy's house is a chorus of chittering and jibbering.
Shadows flash across your blurred field of vision, leaping over the counter and into the kitchen through the staging window. Before your body gives up its effort to keep you awake and processing this data, you are positive that you see someone or something peek over the counter and look down; something with white shaggy hair and giant yellow eyes.
But it's not your business any more. Time to sleep...perhaps a long time....
These thoughts are suddenly replaced by a competition of severe, sharp pains throughout your body...each trying to outdo the other for intensity and you feel yourself lose control of your nervous system. The throbbing in your ears, the smoke in your eyes from fires ignited throughout the diner and in the parking lot, the glass imbedded in your back and neck...it all combines to rob you of your sense. While still alive, the pain is too great too move and you slowly lose consciousness.
In your half-dazed state, you hear sounds that you would normally associate with the jungle coming from the parking lot. Higher in pitch than the roaring of the fires and the inferno originating from uncle Slappy's house is a chorus of chittering and jibbering.
Shadows flash across your blurred field of vision, leaping over the counter and into the kitchen through the staging window. Before your body gives up its effort to keep you awake and processing this data, you are positive that you see someone or something peek over the counter and look down; something with white shaggy hair and giant yellow eyes.
But it's not your business any more. Time to sleep...perhaps a long time....