Daira spoke in his most authoritative voice to the object of his search. Fred Willoughby was snoozing in his lazyboy. Three beers had lulled the fifty year old man to sleep in the fifth inning of a close game. Weekends were all the same for Fred these days. His wife had left him when their daughter moved out. "You're boring," she told him and Fred had to agree. He'd never been much to look at- a string bean to his wife's curves. People used to call them Mr. and Mr.s Jack Spratt. Nowadays Fred looked like a string bean that swallowed a watermellon with a soft belly hanging down over his belt and resting on his still skinny legs when he sat.
This Fred Willoughby was a pretty pathetic human but Daira was down to his last bit of strength. Fred was his last hope.
Daira summoned his most impressive voice and spoke.
"Fred Willoughby your time has come. Awake and worship the all-poweful Daira."
Fred looked up, chins quivering. "What's that?" he sputtered looking around.
Daira summoned a vision that he believed would impress Fred.
Seeing a muscular bald man Fred wondered what Mr. Clean wanted with him. "Too many beers." he told himself.
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