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.