The Aftermath

You won’t know what’s hit you. A stage-hook wrapped cruelly around your neck, ripping you out of that white loom of light. You slip and skedaddle on wooden floorboards; kicking up your heels, petticoats lifted, knickerbockers flashing – the audience laughs and claps, comedy gold.

Roadrunner: you run. Off the top of a cliff, you run. Stalling mid-air, legs cycling (of course). Turn to the camera,  eyes wide in faux-surprise. Wooshka!

You sit all raggedy-anne amongst a backdrop of dust-coated boulders. An anvil follows (of course). You look up just before impact (of course).That slam-shiny metal crushes your face, flattening you to the floor. You spring up concertina like (of course), making sad wah-wah sounds as your ribs expand and contract. Wah wah wah wah



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