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Unfortunately, the number is busy. She tries another number, but the line goes dead after a couple of rings. The phone booth's frame groans under the mass of flab surrounding it. The smell of old ham permeates the air. CREEEEEEAAAAK! goes the phone booth. POP! goes a rivet, driven out of the frame by the immense pressure, and punches a bleeding hole into Sara's upper arm. Oozing pasty flab oozes into the hole, and around the edges of the door. Outside, in the murk, Sara sees Jasper's flopping, half-digested head slowly drifts into view, it's lifeless mouth gaping. Behind it drits a Prius, a cow, a very short yellow schoolbus and a McDonalds sign. Several of the bus' occuptants stare blankly through the windows or play with themselves. She screams.
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9/4/2008 6:15:02 PM
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