unni@sm.unisys.com (Unni Warrier) (05/18/88)
Mad gryphons were bounding. Bounding about the tree trunks. Their tails were slithery, leaving a trail that smelt of rancid butter. And they did this only when you were not looking, so you could see them move only out of the corners of your eyes. If you looked directly at them, they jumped behind the tree trunks. Clever. But the smell!! And there were caterpillars in the leaves of the trees. You could hear them rustle as they crawled about, feeding only on the black pus that oozed out of the tree bark. And they had some sort of common intelligence, for they knew where you were, as you walked in fear, your mother clutching your drenched hand for assurance. She never saw them. It has been a long time since you told her anything. She just did not believe you. So stupid. And there were crabclaws in the grass, wanting to pull at your toes if you took off your shoes, so you never did. She never understood why. But when you came home screaming with the little toe all mangled and pulpy, she hit you on the side of the head, and called you crazy. But you never hurt anyone. Not even the other kids that made faces at you and poured ketchup all over your face and yelled blood. Not even the teacher who pointed out your pissy wet pants to the whole class, and it was just that you were afraid. Now you don't even go to the park anymore. Safe, safe behind the CRT screen that reduced everything into one ignoble bit stream of consciousness, though not sentience. Yet the blood surely oozes out your being as you conform to the 80 column line...... unni