Defeat The Sinister Spells
We watched him as he ran, backwards, raging forwards, lost to the horizon. He became, finally, an etch on the moon.
Armed With a Fantastic Power
Never one to blow his own trumpet he was caught one day, nevertheless, making grand claims about his abilities, his powers. What powers? they asked, those inquisitors of gloom.
One of The Greatest
Never the like of him shall we see again, not in this life.
True, though surely the time has passed, been reached, where we can perhaps move on, make our own way?
No, the time is not ready, not right. We must first receive the signal.
The sign that tells us he is ready to return, to save us, to deliver us into salvation.
Not that again.
Not what again?
He was, to all intents and purposes, no longer of this life. We had buried him, for a start. But then, now that I think of it, there were those who claimed, right to the last, that he was, in fact, still alive. How he survived three weeks in that box, six feet in the ground, we will never really know.
Invasion of The Lava Men
Here they come, the little ticklers. They gather at the foot of the bed. My favourite is Swimp, the little one. The littlest one. He has buck teeth and roaming eyes. I never know where he is looking. Or what he is thinking. One day, I’m sure, they will mount the bed. And then I will be done for. Consumed by their flames, their all-consuming heat. Roar. Etc. But until then, I am more than happy to bask in their orangey glow.
Please Don’t Frustrate Us
We wait at the foot of the bed in the hope of a glimpse of that girl’s thighs and her breasts and all the other forbidden bits that we are even forbidden to think about let alone mention. She sees us, we’re sure, but she seems to see through us and just lies there contently drawing something from our heat like she is on the beach or under a sun lamp or something. We wouldn’t mind so much, we all agree, if she didn’t just lie there with all her clothes on. We keep wracking our brains, thinking of what we can do to get her to take her clothes off and maybe writhe around for a bit. We can’t turn up the heat because any more would consume her. We are reminded, some of us, of the story of the wind and the sun and the competition they had to see which of them could cause the man to take his coat off and, of course, the sun won because the more the wind blew the more the man held his coat, pulled it on, even tighter. The sun won and we cannot understand where it is that we’re going wrong.
Waiting To Pick Up the Pieces
I am cupboard hider. When all burnt I will scrape up warm flesh that cling to bed clothes and decorate cupboard walls. Turn heat up you stupid little things.
Wait Till You Learn
You will reach my age one day and discover the truth of growing old. You will, believe me, weep at the news of it.
Terrifying battles and carnage as the city falls to the crash and thunder of two giant robots. They arrived, only hours ago, from Planet Robot, these two adversaries of clang, now using our city as an arena for their metallic slugging. Through the crunching of gears and the whirling of whirligigs we can just about hear their terrible words. The things they say to each other, the grievances they have. No wonder they fight.
Truly Different Villainy
He will box your ears for you. If you’re not careful.
The fates have come to tempt us, dear Spidey. You on the ledge there, high above, me looking up, wishing I were you. Remember the time you caught me as I fell from my window washing lift contraption thing? Twenty stories I fell and, of course, assumed I was a goner. But there, at what seemed like the very last moment, you caught me. Carried me away in your thin though powerful arms. I would have your children Spidey. Believe me, I would.