Behold: the day-dawn was breaking. The young man (with whom this story concerns itself) was not terribly excited about this prospect. The bed was much more inviting than the cold rays of the sun that were not shining through the clouds. And wind. And rain. At length he forced himself out of bed and to his feet. He cast a longing look towards his bed, and his bed cast a longing look towards him. The two must part, they knew, though that knowledge hardly eased their heartbreak. Alas, they bade their farewells, and John’s morn began.
The peanut butter and jelly sandwich was the next thing to greet John, and it anticipated the meeting. It had been planning for this meeting for months in advance: ever since it had been purchased, in its separate components, it had waited for the day that the cereal would run out, and the young man would be forced to eat the PB&J instead. It had grown a healthy culture of mold – healthy, and quite advanced, too, making great advances in art, science, and especially military conquest in all its moldy glory – and hidden it from John until the peanut butter had been spread and the precious jelly expended. Just as he was about to take his first bite, the sandwich couldn’t help but giggle in anticipation, alarming John somewhat. A second look at the sandwich, and its plot was foiled.
The mold itself was thoroughly disappointed. It was no ordinary mold, to be cut off from its home bread and cast into the trash! It had suffered so much for this invasive moment! It was no easy feat to move a whole horde a spore-based lifeforms to action, nor organize them into legions, armed and trained for battle. They had sat, poised, as they saw the gaping maw of the young man stretching forever before them, preparing to leap into the deep blackness within. Then, to their horror, the two horizons of his lips, above and beneath, rushed shut – quite shut – and then disappeared from view. Instead, the world became a blur, and the rushing of wind welcomed them into the oblivion of the trash bin.
John’s roommates were largely unconscious of this dramatic exchange. In fact, they were largely unconscious of anything, owing to their being largely unconscious. This was not an uncommon state to be in before 9 a.m. in this apartment.
Unbeknownst to any within the apartment, though, an eerie visitor watched them from without the basement-floor windows. It tracked John’s movements as he meandered to and from his room and the kitchen. He had been very quiet, it observed. It noticed that he made no sudden movements, almost as if he were aware of its presence, aware of its gaze. Once or twice he jerked his head toward the window, only to see the sidewalk beyond it empty – the visitor dodging out of sight just in time. At length, the time had come. John had put on his coat, and his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. The visitor hastened down the stairwell to the door John would inevitably open. Slowly the handle turned, and
Click
Swing
They stood face-to-face. John, and the velociraptor. Again. This time, the velociraptor was not so slow to react. It leapt forward, claws reaching for John’s throat. The claws never found purchase in his flesh. Before it had time to react, John was gone – no, beneath it as it leapt through the air, rolling on the floor and leaping to his feet just as the velociraptor landed. It turned to face him in time to see the door slam, and hear John’s footsteps fade out of earshot. Enraged, it ran to the door, and found it locked. It cursed in Velociraptor under its breath. It could open doors, yes, but its clawed extremities were not well-suited for handling tiny locking mechanisms. Chagrined, it turned to face John’s roommates, who stood with arms folded, scowling in disappointment at it. It hung its head.
“I have failed you again, masters,” it said, voice breaking.
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