Spinster’s Logic. By CpSingleton © 2016
Edward Spinster woke up confused, before stretching with very little certainty in his spine.
The last memory he could dredge from his swampy mind was of being in bed. But here he was, bobbing slightly, in a soft, warm raft that filled his nostrils with the comforting aroma of grandma’s Sunday kitchen.
He shuffled to sit up and stopped with shock to see, all round him, as far as his narrowed eyes could see, bubbled a sea of deep brown. It shined on the surface like melted chocolate, but it wasn’t anything so sweet.
Without warning steel lightening appeared out of the sky, cutting the raft in half.
Now he knew what a Yorkshire Pudding felt.
After he awoke, screaming, he vowed to be a carnivore from that day forth, because he would rather eat than be eaten; without a doubt.
He also utilised the same bubble-wrapped logic to enter politics. Though he walked away three weeks later. Edward was a complex fucker like that. The cocaine and bleating did not mix well in his mind.
Some years later, during his last few, throaty breaths on this earth, he realised he’d got the message all wrong, but knew he could do bugger all about it. So, he sighed and closed his eyes for the last time with the aroma of Yorkshire Puddings fresh in his nostrils and an irrational anchoring for onion gravy.