Wednesday, April 4, 2012

A frivolous frippery fragment of a tale

Perched on the precipice of his death, he gazed at the depths below. Immediately in front of him was a thick layer of frothy bubbles. The intoxicating smell he yearned to become one with drifted up to his nostrils.

Yet the white fluffy effervescence gave him pause. Or maybe the bodies of his fellows lying still and lifeless was the cause of his doubt. Finally, however, temptation overcame his hesitancy and he plunged in.

For the first exhilarating second he was in fermentation heaven, one second before the curious looking foam choked the life out of his poor, pesky, pitiful little life.

The hapless fruit fly was drowned in a cup of apple cider vinegar and dawn soap bubbles...poor thing.

Let those who have ears to hear...

T.K. Allen

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