The Story of the Universe

by Jason Nelson

The cabin was far too big for me, and those others I invited along. Oh sure,

you say, I knew what would happen, it being that time of year and all. But the

fresh smell, that one yummy thing, just doesn’t linger as long, something to do

with the density of destiny I think. Suddenly, they, my guests, started to

notice the immensity of the logs that made up the cabin, as large, or larger

than really big logs. That’s when it happened. I suppose you have to expect it

from priests and precision runners, but I just can’t perform like I used to. A

couple of them started chanting the colors of blue and green, not realizing that

without yellow it was redundant. The cabin creaked and rowed, as if cabins had

canoes, growing larger and larger dwarfing the snow flakes swirling around it.

The runners joined in by running in a chant like manner. It grew even larger

than large, even faster than fast. A small, but deceivingly strong, woman

wearing what looked like a parking lot came down to us. She began to speak

through the tracheotomy pipe in her throat. She said that she was sick of

priests and their logs, that houses should be made of mud. As she spoke her

breath was overwhelmingly bad, and I was just about to say something about

toothpaste, when the whole thing collapsed.