The war on the cicadas was drawing to a close. The roads were littered with smashed up pumpkins and water melon goo. The air was filled with the sort of compact silence that can only follow absolute noise. Somewhere in the distance one could detect a hint of orange light, presumably a residue from ear blasting gun fire and heavy artillery.
She looked around, only partially aware of the pain in her right leg, the leg that was no more. It amused her, the pain, as she looked down on the bloody stump where her thigh once used to be. The searing pain seemed to her, if not tragic, then at least highly ironic.
Walking was difficult, of course, given that one of her legs were cut off, but she did what she could under the circumstances. As she hopped along, slowly but deliberately, a tune popped in to her head. It was the kind of tune that one can not easily shake, and as she slowly made her way back from whence she came the lyrics seemed to motivate her to keep moving forward. It was a though Kris and Kross sang to her exclusively, as they pushed her forward with their never ending summoning to jump. Jump.
Monday 31 August 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)