​Zits Hit Hinges – 21st Century Post-Factual Fiction

Clarity meanderings in the first order of going at it all by yourself never really materialized into bouncing orbits.  Glyphs of hydrogen tinnitus found her digging the annals of violet butterfly nets.  The scene opens with sunlight streaming over a balcony in a dimly lit grotto.  A hive of bees can be seen nearby.  Lasers.
“I would never hurt you,” Matilda told him.  “I was on your side all along.”
He glanced at the sky and tried to sit up.  
“Oh, did you ever find out about Heather?”  he asked.
“What?”  she didn’t hear him.  His voice was so low.
“Heather?  How is she?”  He asked again, only this time she heard him fine over the chirping of the berries.
“Fine.  Not a big deal. “
“Sounded serious at first.”
“No – it was nothing.” 
This time it was not serious.  Next time we would find Nancy brushing her hair and muttering something about “Gloots.”  She may have meant posterior muscles, but there was also a cereal of that name, I thought to myself.  Or was there?  Maybe not.  
We fade to an interior where the entire room has been covered in shag carpeting.  The carpentry is less than ornate.  Swedish furniture era.  That sort of thing.  The sound of disco beats play, though someone has mistaken 33 1/3 rpms for 45 and so everything slows down at this point.  When we hear…
“Gillette!  The man’s best friend can get!”  This was the name of a dog and not product placement, we swear.
Of course, by that time we had seriously considered the idea that Bob was no longer on our side.  The next conference call would be telling.  
“How did you find out,” Harry asked.
“Looked it up.  It was pretty easy – these days.  Did you think…. ?”  His voice trailed off.
“No – it… yeah, that makes sense.  We just…. I thought it was some academic…  I don’t know… secret knowledge.”
He laughed.  “No, you can pretty much buy Brussel sprouts in most stores.”
This was the deal: there was no deal.  No one could agree and it ate away at his sensible sensibilities that no matter how many compromises they were willing to make, none seemed to achieve the goal of lettuce marks the spot, but be quick because it wilts pretty fast.
“Did you get the frost pack?”  She asked.
“No – different flavor.”  They didn’t have it.  As usual, their consumerist dreams were somewhat shattered or slightly disappointed, but they liked different flavors so hyperbole is not needed or not warranted or maybe we have crossed over into…
Yelping iguanas never understood algebra.  But he didn’t care.  This was the first time he had stood outside the club.  It was a giant club, with most of it buried under tons of sand.  It must have been something to look at.
“They found Gideon’s Bible!” Joseph shouted.   
“Outstanding!” Yosiah said.  “The problem, though, is that we already purchased a new one.”
“No matter,” Joseph said.  “We can present the old one and it will be a keepsake.”
“That sounds like a splendid plan,” Yosiah said.
Later, Gideon stood still for a moment and wiped his brow.  He held the two Bibles in his hand.
“I…. I’m sorry but…”  he paused and looked around at the gathered crowd of family and friends.  “Neither one of these is mine.”
An explosion rocked the mine.  Fifteen miners were trapped.  One had an out-of-body experience.  Another was now rocketing at warp speed into the abyss.
But the bus stopped and she got off.  
“Well,” the driver said.  “Have a nice day.”
She turned and looked over her shoulder.  “Wait, one minute.
“You too,” she told the driver.
Then she fell on her face.  But she was Ok.  There were no bruises.  And everyone had a chuckle.

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