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Life in the Empire


They fought from heaven; the stars in their courses fought against Sisera. –Judges 5:20

Ton-dog snapped them off and trotted through the portal with a Porpoise. The Holly Spirit sounded in a sea of change and leaped in the lightless firmament. “Spirit two too-oh,” growled Ton-dog, sitting at the foot of Waldo’s bed. Mammals seemed a good idea.
“Look, honey,” purported Waldo, shaking a sleeping Ms. Waldo, “a giant border collie!”
“She can not hear you,” growled Ton-dog, emitting starlight from Sirius’ dog-dish. “You are now on a mission from Dog.” The stars were out because Ton-dog stopped the light. Few noticed except isolated astrophysicists and lonely astronomers. The sky was black. There was nary a murmur in the mainstream media about the vanished Universe.

“Why me?” Waldo pleaded with the Dickens-style Apparition, “Tell them yourself.”
“Because that is not the way it works,” snuffed Ton-dog.
“The way what works?” Waldo wanted to know who would believe a talking Dog.
“The Universe, old man,” snorted Ton-dog, “and don’t freak out about the mirror.”
Waldo snapped his head around to look in the mirror and saw nothing. When he looked back, Ton-dog was gone. Waldo spent the rest of the night looking into the empty mirror without seeing his reflection, like a scene from a typical Vampire movie. He could move objects outside the mirror, but in their reflections they stayed where they were.

Practicing with this phenomenon, Waldo learned to pass through walls and become invisible. His advancing age ruled out the obvious visit to the local Girls’ shower room, and with gripping fear of Porpoise, Dog’s mission obsessed old Waldo.
“I’m off to see the President,” he told Ms. Waldo on Christmas Eve.
“Try not to talk about Dog,” she cautioned while basting a turkey. “It’s just weird.”
Naturally, Waldo ignored her advice. “Look,dude,” explained Waldo to the startled Black Man, “when Dog ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” The obviously disturbed Chief Executive listened to the entire rant before “security” streamed in.

To Waldo’s surprise, the Executive remained silent with eyes fixed on Waldo while .pistols pointed like porcupines. “I’m not just invisible to them,” explained Waldo, “I don’t even exist. The stars are still out. The moon will grow, but it is not the moon… it’s the singularity at the end of our universe. You know what you have to do, and we don’t have much time.” Then, it was out the Oval wall, through blast barriers, razor wire and a tank or two. Home for Christmas, the sump pump broke, the basement was basted, and an engorged blood-red ersatz-moon silenced even the network nattering heads.

A Monday-mental dumpster would await the Waldo’s subterranean homesick shoes. Next to a celestial cone the star-gazers now taken Sirius observe a Border collie, ear cocked toward the vanishing point. All dogs go to heaven, and we can too. They wait with wagging tails and Porpoise; hard things, heavy times on the parsec palindrome.

God ton not dog.

Views: 19

Comment by waldopaper on December 27, 2009 at 11:57am
A poultice for the Solstice and happy to one and all!
Comment by BO on December 27, 2009 at 5:48pm
Thanks, Waldo. That sent shivers through my ectoplasm. Sounds like you had a scintillating solstice. Remember to hang the christmas tree upside down next year, and it will keep the evil spirits away.

Ahh, the monday mental dumpster awaits us all. But at least the days are getting longer now.
Comment by pan on December 28, 2009 at 9:10am
Thanks Waldo - I was starting to wonder if we were going to get our annual gift of a story this year - I look forward to it.

Slight connection - yesterday I finished batiking a rayon scarf that I call my star scarf, a series of varying color dots on a blue-black field.

BO's new avatar looks like a fiery condom - that would do the trick!
Comment by Gregory Knight on January 5, 2010 at 12:23pm
Waldo, you aren't a typical yank. Not fair, since I've only been to the States once in my young life. Still, you aren't a typical yank !

Cheers mate
Comment by waldopaper on January 8, 2010 at 7:32pm
gor bloke! there's about 300 million of us yanks... so i ain't quite sure what a "typical yank" is.

but if you mean the bloody pish that comes out of our "media," well... aye... that's "typical."

back atcha, dude!


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