The thing that wouldn't stay still

Obviously severed, it did not bleed. It would have been most grotesque to observe if not for the painted smiley face and because of this it kept your gaze and wonderment. Manfred thought about how often you heard this kind of thing being found in cans of spinach, Kentucky Fried Chicken or Fort Lauderdale beaches. He found himself thinking, “Oh great, why is it my shift?” A few steps and a quick gesture with his right arm and hand stopped the batter mixer. The Fig Newton production lines’ safety light came on flashing its red beams and the annoyingly appropriate beep.

Just overhead and just a few minutes before "it" with the painted smiley face was found . . . a New Guinea Bowerbird fretted dropping his lost jewel, his token of affection for some lucky and very hot looking lady bowerbird. Or at least that’s what he hoped. Now, because of one clumsy movement his jewel slipped from his grasp in mid flight and fell irretrievably in the habitat of man. (A cookie factory, but this was beyond his bird brain’s grasp.) His bower was magnificently manufactured from the best grasses. The pebbles, shards of broken bottles, bits of misplaced gold and silver jewelry all displayed nearby marked his nest building and food gathering prowess. His lost piece was the keystone of his design. It had the allure of color yet something about it also brought about the idea of . . . food. Felandra the most large breasted, sexy Bowerbird would have chosen him because of it and they would have lived in joyous birdie matrimony. (Until the breeding season was over.) 

The Dawson family’s cat had sulked in the sun for hours. He had let go of his prize only for a few minutes to observe how the wind had caught a stray bird feather. It danced with life without the owner who grew it. It was simply fascinating to him. He couldn’t blame himself really, after all he was a cat, and devoid of mistakes. Yes, it wasn’t his fault, he decided. The god of cats had given him the tasty morsel from an open window. It had flown to him in perfect arch and trajectory and landed with three bounces at his very paws. It dripped some blood to whet HIS appetite, no one else’s. The cat took final note and would someday have vengeance over the bowerbird that took what was rightfully his.

Much earlier that day, Bob had been moving the floor fan closer to the living room couch. Now he found himself in hospital’s emergency room. As he held the hand of his angry wife he recounted the mishap that had befallen them this morning:

He carefully picked up the fan as it was still plugged into the electric socket. He didn’t want to chop off any fingers. He saw this happening in his mind and was possessed by the thought. So intense was his thought that he didn’t hear his wife ask, “Honey do you like my toenails? I painted them purple with little yellow smiley faces on them.” She held out her left big toe as it had the biggest nail . . .