He was staring at me holding his tiny gun armed with a bad attitude but I wasn’t scared. I was a much bigger green alien after all, half Roswell half Mythos.
“Along with being a triangle,” I could hear the little, wretched creature say in my head, “I am a circle that is also a square. A 3-n-1.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of those,” I said back with my own mind. “About 5 minutes ago when you mentioned it last.” We often played these mind games with each other, both of us being stuck out in the sticks on the far north side of Heterocera, as far up as you can get if you don’t count Fillip and Brindle (which we don’t — more on that story later?). He wasn’t such a bad guy I suppose, except he tends to repeat himself over and over. And the whole tiny gun issue. Those itty bitty bullets can sting a bit. Plus I suppose they could put out an eye if you fired directly into one of them for, say, 5 minutes. About the time it takes to say 3-n-1 twice.
Someone entered the cafe — phew! Out loud talk for a while hopefully.
But when I turned to greet the visitor and saw the square cartoon figure on the shirt I knew it was just Horace again in another guise, trying to make a point. He did that sometimes. Oh well. Better than Fillip and Brindle showing up and bragging about being on top of it all, king of the hills.
I watched in amusement as the two tried to determine how to become one again, the spider web I put up just yesterday getting in the way, ha. Now he’ll have a human doppelganger roaming around in the world for a while until they can figure it out — serves him right.
“Drink?” I said to her, trying to take advantage of the situation. Might as well make a buck off of it.
(to be continued?)
Sunklands 