So I'm at work today when this big, ugly immortal comes in. He says "Hollander - I have searched for 3 thousand years to find you and my moment of glory. I will not be deterred in my quest!" Before I could reach for my blade he had his in his hands, cold metal gliding through the air, slicing through flesh, bone, and soul.

Bob's head toppled to the floor.

"Hey, jackass, I'm over here - you just killed Bob. Idiot." By the time he finished turning around, his head was slowly spinning off as his body quietly fell to the floor. The shocked faces of my co-workers assured me that this scene had not gone wholly unnoticed. Go figure. Ah well, clean-up time.

By the time the last body had fallen, I had almost reached my car. Funny how the body seems to refuse death even without a brain to argue the point. Reminds me of a joke about a chicken - something about a cross, a road, and a truck. Never can remember those jokes.

Excerpt from the Post: "Police baffled... " (no shit) "apparent murder suicide..." (uh huh) "killer used a pearl-handled sword..." (suicide... riiiight) "18th century or earlier." (16th actually, shape of the hilt's a dead giveaway)

It's amazing what the press will say nowadays, gives "dumbed down" a whole new meaning y'know? I swear they should just start printing picture books for the sunday edition, get it over with. Bob never read that stuff. Poor old Bob.

Little known fact - immortals absorb a mortal's consciousness as well. Think of us as a container - a jar of human cookies. Every now and then you can nibble at the sweets, but you can't eat them all up, not ever. I guess maybe the comparison is lacking since you start to become those same cookies, and nibbling on yourself would hurt. Which it does. Hm, maybe it's a good comparison after all.

Anyways, Bob - Bob the sales clerk - outstanding guy. Did you know he once masturbated 26 times in a single day? Amazing guy, really - almost considered submitting it to the Guinness Book. Sometimes cookies taste really bad.

Janice - assistant manager. Two cats, an impala, a baby girl, a cheating husband. What company we keep.

Alan - sales clerk. Single, gay, unhappy, artist, wishing on a star for inspiration or a big break.

Kate - cashier. Young, beautiful, just starting a new relationship with a sweet, caring man.

Simon - manager. Sweet, caring man, just starting a new relationship with a young, beautiful girl.

Derek - cashier. College student, quiet, studious, carrying twenty dollars from the register in his pocket.

Mavarka - the guy with the recognition problem. Stupid, blind, dead. Simple.

All of life's little stories come together one way or another. I'm the other. The bringer of souls, culler of tales, and cookie jar extraordinaire.

Things weren't always like this, you know. Things were different. Life was good. The world was full of forgiveness, opportunity, happiness - the jar was empty. It's hard to understand how things came to such a pass. How life changed so abruptly.

Kiyrla. Maybe it's not so hard. Kiyrla and Job. Death and rebirth. The jar was once empty, maybe it would do well to remember it's first occupant. Time will tell I suppose. Time and cookies.

-H
- posted by Unknown @ 22:53