Tiny clay heads made in free time
My dad and I steal a car. Simple. I take a secondary highway out of town and merge alongside a cop, causing my dad to curse the coincidence. We drive straight up a mountain and he disappears. Great lines of workmen with rifles and threatening expressions march past, silent. I am unarmed. I slip into line and mimic their actions. The foreman calls me out. His blondness is deviant and he is enraged. He says something brutal to me. I defend myself and yell back. Did I hit him? I certainly hit him. The risk is extreme, foolish and dangerous. The workmen stare at huge beasts running towards us, a greater threat. It’s usually a bear that runs for me. I’m always scared, but it’s adrenal. I know it will talk to me or I’ll find safety or it will stop short of attack - very short. The bear gives chase, but it’s the elk that’s interested. This has never happened before. This primitive, demonic Mega Elk is mythically huge. Iridescent snot ribbons out of its nose, waste velvet peels off its antlers, its unfocused cow eyes roll in their sockets. I will die with enough time to really feel this terrible impact. It vanishes just before striking. My eyelids pull back and I see the workmen walk into a tunnel. The tunnel is piled with wet, stinking guts. I struggle through them, my legs sometimes sinking to the hip. Why would they take me this way? I’ll look for a way around tomorrow. I’m in a rice paddy full of small splashing fish. It’s awful, charging through it to a parking lot where the workmen get into cars. The lot is emptying quickly.
I ask for a ride.
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