Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Little Boy Blue

"I won't be here, but you'll be able to tell by the direction of my tongue," he wrote, carefully into the ground.

He was licked. Affectionately, by a mother. This was only a small joy for him, one for him to easily understand and empathize with along. He then proceeded to impart a lot of details about himself, of his being and how his mind worked, to the mother sheep. Of course he finished by affirming that this was only what he knew, and not a representation of every other mind in co-existence.

"See," he said, taking the sheep into his arms. "Tomorrow I'm going to tell some amazing lies. Massive lies."

The sheep snuggled, and trusted him.

"They will tell you about how I am the greatest liar," he said, stroking its fleece. "They will make a mockery of my mockery."

At this, the animal merely snorted into his sleeve. He laughed. "I love you," he said. "So I'm going to do a trick." Some of the sheep in the pen became nervous, and began rattling. "Shush," he said, the shepherd. "You are not lambs, before slaughter."

Everything calmed down and finally, it was another morning, and sunlight finally reached Earth after the hanky-panky of the Moon. If there was to be cheese on the Sun, it would be really good. Really good cheese. Not sad and pensive, but fiery cheese.

"You ready to bring them in? What's the joke this morning?" asked Abe, unfastening the gate.

"I got one you never heard of," he said, calmly, strapping his rifle.

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