I’ve carried this secret for thirty years now. I can’t talk about it. The truth is too dangerous.
It started when I was in college. A crunch here, a crunch there. The sidewalks filled with them this time of year. Some crunches carried more heft than others. They were not equal. Some were real, some were…
Even now, late at night, you can still glimpse the clean-up. It’s thorough. If the public found out, there would be riots.
Let’s just say, they come in autumn. You can hear them in the wind. The ships murmur, hidden in the breeze. They twirl and flit about, masquerading as a childlike innocence. If you keep your eyes peeled wide, you can spot the difference. Some are bigger than normal. Their veins fuse flesh with circuitry. They blend organism and machine. Sorry. I may have said too much.
If you spot one of these fluttering creatures, do your part. You know you’ve accomplished the task properly when you feel that deep crunch under your boot. They never bother cloaking anymore; they hide in plain sight. Nevertheless, they must all be crunched.
There is good news. They are stupid. They may come from afar, but they still can’t fathom our planet’s ecosystem. Our climate is too cold for them. At some point during their arrival, they shed their color and shrivel into the crunchy little demons that they are.
Be careful. Be safe. Crunch. Crunch them all like our lives depend on it. If they ever figure out how to wear coats, we may all be doomed.
March on, my friends.
Comments
Be the first to comment.