King of kings under the earth
Moles are all gathered by him
Short cries of pain
Loss and the heat of the darkness
Smell of the death comes from within
Spreading like the tides
The pride of moles cries like a mother loosing her firstborn
Each take a bite of the kings dead flesh
Each crying a little more as the swallowing of the flesh occurs
Each other is glad to receive this blessing
The worms cannot have the king
The last to eat is the princess
Chosen by all, loved by the king as his own
She now eats his heart, little by little
Till none is left
All hail the princess, who is queen
She cries out again above the call
Banana peels on the seat next to me
Feelings of bitterness from a few angry old fashioned men
Grumpy cats in suits, waiting for fish for their own horrible catch
Sucking on a cough lollipop
Coffee smelling jackets, sweet feelings of silken cloth on my legs
Little bit more of a sudden drop in the way things move around
Angry angels antagonistly anticipate an average apocalypse.
Bored Bandicoots bandage brassieres to bring back bebop.
Centralized Centuars counter argument that most creationist of creatures the Cat.
Taking to talking in telling tounge twisters Toucan told a tale of tinkling tendrils to tantalize the thoughts.
Lion Leo lounged luxourosly licking lenticular lines lazily.
Frenzied fur seals fouruouisly flounce figure eights while fishing their fill.
Mindindfully meditating on malice and fishing minced meats out of his mandible, Manticore mislayed the latest edition of men’s weekly, featuring the mets.
Watching wistfully Wesal went about her wisend ways and wrestled with her winter stockpile of walnuts.
Chilled chinchilla commissioned Cockeral to count consecutive children in the counterintuitive hope it would chase away the chills.
Friendly Fox found finishing frittatas in a fry pan a feindishly futile fellowship.
Generally Goose gives out grapeshot but Goanna grabbed the wrong goods.
Entertainment Eels and enchiladas, Elephant eases into his role as lord Eastwick. The Eels later endeavor to enscribe his entertainment as electrifying.
Jaguar just jives the night away.
Open sky above a cornflower sea
Smooth sand crumpled in waves
Red rust and so much dust
A slab that’s been eaten away
Crabs and octopuses live in little pools inside
Mosquitoes and frogs and little salty tree
The roof has almost gone
Where did it go?
Their is a staircase to nowhere
And a so many rusty walls
A frame for something
Little rusty machines whose purpose now is to provide shelter for oysters and plants and little spiders
Eels are near one end, hiding in a salty briny pool the waves have cavound away
A little sign still somehow hanging on for dear life says
“We work to make a better world.”
A little breeze and it finally lets go of its final rust filled screw
A clang. A noose. A place to be dead and be forgotten.
Tonight it is my home. Tomorrow I move on. I wounder if I want crab or eel for tea.
I’m telling you it’s mashed.
Playing on the radio
First a nightmare.
Then a time of day.
N. Nia. Jettisoned.
Drag on the chain.
Selling on your name.
I’m glad you gave me something worth using.
Serene king on a splinter thrown
Blocks of ocean calling home
Trawling through thoughts alone
Eating dinners of fish and bone
Along the soft lines innocence
Made gentle clouds whisper lightning
Sparked instead of madmen rotting
Milk from ether dipped in metaphoric honey
Circular resonance drumming up a dusty gall
Answering moist noises in petroleum ounces
Blotting papers burned in psychiatric haze
Electric guitar shouts a storms last
Hard blind travel instance
Minor keys flooding cows ears
Wasps hatching, spinning, eating
Heat warming but it’s just a newsman on acid, don’t you know
Preceded the deep
Prudent and true do you walk
The facet of depth to release
Craven harbor my insignificance
Few blue stewed mawkish luck
The last drop of glee to believe
Gathered sap wept
Few cents given anew do you stalk
The hatchet of breath to succumb
Flavored palaver our repast glance
Worn clues, brown downed hawkishly stuck
The arrows globular tree be among
Insidious remark of hatred
Leaving a mark
Newspapers fluttering in the wind
Not lean to kin
Herald to taste the smoky winter rains
Acid washed feeling sunshine
Popped pit of olive lime
Destroyed tower of sanity
Tripe of lies given a truth collection
Snide pimple on the face of humanity
Revelation present dime
The fire alarm banshee cry filled the insides of the mall like molasses. Every corner of the mall reverberated with it. People all around looked in dismay at each other, all searching for the nearest exit.
“We better get out of here”
“But the dress?”
“Keep it, at least you have cloves on”
Shoeless, Devine got up and walked awkwardly with Tam out of the mall to the evacuation point in the malls car park. They had just got there when the bomb went off.
Meanwhile, at the fire station full Emergency mode was already coming about. William was sitting in FRT3 half way to Belconnen Mall when the smoke from an explosion rose tempest above the horizon blackening the sun. As he got out of the truck a second explosion made him jump. They, the bomber was making it impossible to get anywhere near the building. The first explosion had destroyed the exits, the second had made it so anyone in a car had no exit either. Four close to simultaneous explosions from the looks of it, each destroying one of the ramps, or the road near the exit, making it near impassible. This was planned terrorism with one intent, as many hostages as possible in a confined space. William took a look at the rest of the crew of FRT3 and the crew chief picked up the walkie talkie…
It was blocked. This was more calculated then he thought. There was no way to communicate with the other crews, or police, ambulance, anyone. The mobile lines would jammed with people trying to call for help or trying just to call loved ones.
“Ok, we need to set up a perimeter, no lines of communication with other crews. William get the flare gun from the back.”
They shot of a flare were they were parked, glowing hot pink in the sky, a sign for all other crews and police, ambulance, and possibly more to come to their position. They would need to takle this one as a group. There would be no single person going in and trying to solve the problem by themselves, that only happened in movies.
There would be about, 600-1000 hostages in that building, the last thing they needed was a fireman amongst them.
Quiet days were always the worst. Living the life of a firefighter was like that of a worrier his farther had taught him. The extreme battle, the rush of adrenaline and often water and fire. The feelings of just using your instinct and nothing more. It’s like being another person when it’s really good. But when it’s dull?
“Knight to ‘bish 3” Peter the chief of station said as he moved his chess piece into position for their eighty-seventh game this month. “Your move, Will”
“Thats the … ” William calculated “two hundredth time you have opened with that move.”
“Yeah, it will be like the sixteen thousandth time he looses too” Quipped Tom.
William liked Tom despite his apprentice lack of class, his crude jokes, and his lack of love for the great one, he was really good to have around. He was a release value and in a fire station were fiery emotions were more frequent then the fires it was needed deeply.
“Sorry Tom, only 2389th time. We have only been playing chess for three years and eight months. Before that the Station manager lost 587 games of bridge and 37 of boggle. ”
“Look, your one of those savant things, I get that. But why a fireman?” Medic Jane asked from her desk in the office.
“I am good at it.”
No one argued with that. William had helped the Station somehow clear it’s quota and was really good at Emergancy management. He had this way of talking to people that made them think clearer and or made them feel better. He was also very fit, despite his size. And finally he didn’t take risks when it wasn’t needed. As the chief said there are old firemen, and there are bold firemen, but there are no old bold firemen.
William moved his kings pawn forward one space. “Pawn to king one”
There were now a minimum of eight moves and a maximum of thirty seven moves till the game finished. The calculation came in his head without even thinking it, like a owl suddenly pouncing on a mouse, his mind grabbed the numbers and just gave them to him. While he waited for the chief to make his move William worked on fixing a cipher issue he had come across in his mind.
Interrupting his thought pattern the siren went off. It was time for work.