The branch quivered, depressed from the squirrel.

The branch quivered, depressed from the squirrel.

twitching its tail, the squirrel sprung, the branch recoiled and a puff of snow drifted down. Toru blinked at the spray of blood on the fresh snow. His last Hanami, he thought

he had experienced all the wonders that nature had to offer in the face of a flower. Now, looking at the squirrel blood on the snow he saw a more tragic sort of beauty: the beauty

of roadkill. He brought the smooshed squirrel home to his wife. "That's wonderful, Harold," she smiled. Slipped into the foyer & hissed in her cel:"My hubby is the Squirrel Killer!

Harold's wife - aka spontaneous shite spreader, tweeter of the realm - should have given him a chance to explain his discovery of the dead squirrel before the name-calling

despite her forceful reminders to keep to the proscribed ritual. Harold's wife, now widow, Crimson Circe turned him to ashes with her Last Kiss. She would find a new orange puppet.

She walked into the pitch meeting with Solange the puppet Orange. The suits at Tropicana were cool to the idea. She got flustered. She was losing them. Then Solange spoke up. Heads

swung to the left then to the right. The Yellow Sol was cool to the touch. He got sunburnt nonetheless. He was peeling skin. Then a black hole appeared. Tails

appeared, then Sonic, then Shadow, then a bunch of multi-series members of the Sonic the Hedgehog cast. "Quick, get in!" Tails screamed, motioning to the large bubble dome spaceshi