And then the bag of chips started to talk— and I? I was totally lost.
“I SAID GET DOWN!” the bag of chips screamed.
“SHIT!” I gasped as my kitchen windows blasted apart and in flew a monster.
I dunked but barely and was only just able to avoid getting pelted with shards of little murder. Hunched down below the sink, I heard my apartment being destroyed by whatever rat with wings had careened its way into my run down little hovel. But realizing only belatedly that I had shoes on, I willed myself to go and investigate what strange creature had found its way to me, the crunch of glass beneath my feet giving my resolve an action-movie like feel; for good measure, though, I grabbed a kitchen knife just in case things went south.
As I slowly made my way to the creature, my heart pounded. A talking chip bag, some strange animal; was I out of my mind? What was in that joint? Maybe accepting strange drugs from strangers at gas stations wasn’t a good idea after all.
Feeling a scuffle on my arm, I looked over to see the chip bag climb up my shirt like an explorer traversing an undiscovered mountain. It then mounted itself on my shoulder and grabbed a thread of hair to hold on as if I were an elephant or horse meant for riding. But I just took a deep breath and tried to ignore the chip bag; something was not right, here, and I didn’t want to invest too much thought into what was clearly a mental breakdown— thought investment would be for my doctors at the hospital if I never calmed down.
Stolen story; please report.
Finally seeing the creature who crashed into my two-bedroom apartment, I lost my breath when I saw its beauty; it was like the most majestic of coon cats mixed with a dazzlingly wondrous butterfly: it had four legs and a tail but also wings and those wings seemed almost translucent, as if they were there but only sometimes. Currently, this breathtaking creature was thrashing around in my dirty laundry. Gross.
Suddenly, the creature shrieked. Obviously, it was in severe distress. I became determined to help it; in my mind, I felt a compelling urge to throw caution to the wind. I don’t know why, but I sensed that if I did not help this creature here and now, then I would never again be given a chance to see more to life than a dead-end job at a crappy store. I held my hands up in front of my chest to show it that I meant no harm and I entered my laundry room.
“How can I help you, fair creature?” I said, not even knowing if it understood me.
At hearing my overture, the creature stopped thrashing about and clawing at the walls. It hyperventilated and coughed roughly. Its wide eyed all dilated, it spoke — but not through its mouth, its mind; yet, as I listened to it speak, its voice seemed to reverberate off the walls as if its manner of speech did emanate from a pair of vocal chords. I was totally lost in this strange manner of talk: “you can speak to us?” the creature remarked.
I shrugged my shoulders and just replied a throaty little, “maybe?”
The creature narrowed its eyes, totally focusing in on me. Only too late, as usual, did I notice that the creature was floating toward me. Gently, softly, like bit of pollen on the wind it wafted through the dead space of my laundry room. When it came and curled up on my head, like a sort of bizarre novelty hat, I had stopped trying to understand this creature.
“You. Are. Awakened. Interesting. And a member of the Snack Tribe is your first companion? Not the most ideal. But for someone who possesses frequencies like your own, I—” but the creature never managed to finish its comments as at that moment my front door was busted open by man-sized donut men with spears.