It was the day after the Gargantuan fell, and the 500,000 inhabitants of Grave City-One headed for cover. Yabo-Five walked with the other seven Yabos down a dusty hallway deep underground kicking up clouds of clipped toenails, hair, skin, eyelashes, dried blood. ,They were seven years apart in age and walked seven feet between them. Had their shoes been size seven a heavenly straw would have appeared to suck them into the ether.
Finding a cell phone in the pocket of Yabo-Four, Five called Prince Prance at the Temple Tantrum. Prance was manning a gathering of Discoids, selling new manna based energy bars to their fiendish appetites. Five got the answering machine….
“don’t call me in the morning,
don’t call me in the afternoon.
Don’t call me in the evening,
Don’t call me in the night.
If you can find a different time,
Like in between the lines,
Call me whenever you like.”
He didn’t bother leaving a message, Prance was an impatient man, and Yabo was bleeding self indulgence.
Yabo-Six looked sick, grey under the eyes. Tongue pale and foamy. White dried spit on his lips. Six had little to say with his gravel of a voice.
Yabo-Two complained of being hungry.
Yabo-Seven walked tall and seemed focused on something up ahead.
Steam glistened from a floor vent in an alcove. they laid down amidst the vapor in the bed of discarded electric bills.
A motorized cat purred by, its solar panel perky and flitting.
Yabo-One was missing.
“Good fucking riddance. One less yesturday to think about, my past has left me behind….”
“hey Three, you try and call Prance”
three rings later and it picks up……. A low gurgle, a distant giggle and a distinctive popping sound. The stamping of tiny feet?
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