Her nickname was shovel face

She came slipping around the corner like a Boston winter wind and crept right down my throat through my manhole eyes. My neck broke in three places when I whipped my head around to see the tail wing on that dirigible.

She fell down, gasping for air, and I skipped over to her blue head and breathed it full of God’s mana. Bile shot out of her throat like a corduroy fountain. She sucked in some of Mama Nature’s honey-fried mountain air and was alive again. I called her shovel face and she called me swamp bandit. It was beautiful.

***
Title by: Ben
Story by: Jeremy

I like this story!

Undo

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