Bernie's Bad Day
One start of light, moving his five-toe leg-ends forward, on his way through the green-stalk, Bernie was off to wage-toil for the first time since his brain'd broke. Lovely sunny light-start, he idea'ed. At the five-day end, he and his son-son'd trap the creatures from the water-jungle for good-time. First, wage-toil through the green-stalk.
Turning up his see-holes, he visioned the top water-jungle go less blue. Then, it got cloudy. Then, it got dark. It dulled Bernie and left him cold inside. He understood the feeling: the wet from the top-water jungle was coming.
Then, it started. The water came like locusts. Not down, but crossways, and into Bernie's see-and-breathe holes and what was left of his head-grass. Ah grass! That's the bastard word, lipped Bernie.
But he'd not minded to fetch his water-parasol. So, he got washing-machined to the skin. Sunny light-start never friggin’ lasts, logged Bernie. Squishing home in the drench, he phished a chill in his body-frame. Cold to the telephone.
When Bernie got in, he bedded with Sip-Lemon and The Morning Star. Ah! Morning, he sniffled through blocked nose-holes. Morning, yeh bugger. How could I not mind morning?
Later, Bernie didn't mind to dog-bone in sick to his fief. His new fief got head-red. Next start-of-light, Bernie was cannoned from wage-toil again. Beezer, inside'ed Bernie, I can go water-creature trapping with the wee boy.
submitted at 4:00pm
13 November 2009
Phil Doran's web: