“Breakfast is ready!,” I shouted from downstairs, 8 eggs frying on the pan and bacon perfectly dispersing it’s porky-woody smoke, throughout the house, at the counter adjacent to me. “John is definitely going to love this batch,” I thought. A minute later, I hear a series of loud, pounding metal sound vibrating off our stairs. “Quit running John, you’re going to wake up your Mother!” I yelled over my soft shoulders. Suddenly, I feel a soft brush of air below me. I glanced down from my shoulders. There he is standing beside my hip. Looking up at me is this beautiful 9-yr old kid with shiny black wavy hair and soft plushy cheeks, his brown iris’ sparkling into a million kaleidoscopic shards from the sun entering the fragile window. Just from one look, you would never believe it. He’s the fastest person alive. \n\n30 minutes later, my wife woke from her sweet slumber. I hear the running of the faucet and stomping of her feet above me. 20 minutes later, leaning under the archway to the kitchen, my wife of 2 children. Her brown hair shimmering from the sunlight coming from the window above her. You can see the dust floating and falling on top of her head.
Her sweet soft lips creased by her smile. And her eyes softly squinting as she does it. The glow of the lime green wall complimenting her sweet white skin. “This woman is beautiful,” I thought, “I’m the luckiest man alive.” The story of how we met, never fails to make me laugh. Like my son, she’s not what you think she is. This delicate, small framed pregnant women could never be the same person who snapped the Eiffel tower like a twig and used it as a weapon against an? I agree, she did receive a lot of publicity about that.”Honey, I love you!” she says, sitting adjacent from the table. “Yah, Daddy, I love you too,” John followed sincerely. I promised to never shed a tear in front of them, because it would make her worry. But on that fine perfect morning I broke it. After breakfast, she flew-off to work. And after flying in a straight 45 degree angle, her suitcase suddenly opens, pieces of white-paper scatters throughout the air. Of course, she picks all of the pieces in the blink of an eye. And before you knew it she is barely visible. You could just feel the level of her strong and “lovey” dexterity.;) I was dropping off John when suddenly I feel my car rise from the ground. John already disappeared-off to get his mother. I looked outside the driver seat window. I suddenly found myself 300 feet above the ground, suspended by a large magnet strapped to a giant robot’s arm.
The size of it’s rusty-green torso indicates that “Dr. Destroyer” is fiddling inside. The awkward length of it’s legs made me wonder how this thing was able to, run, let alone stand. \n\nI suddenly woke up from the erratic shaking of the car. I shuffled to find the closest thing I could hold on to. I latched unto the gear stick. Seconds later the shaking intensifies, I lose my grip. Just when I start fumbling around the car, the driver side door suddenly unlatched. I fall out of the driver side door. However, I catch the last bit of the driver side of the window. Now, I was panicking! I averted my eyes from looking down. My belt-buckle unfastened and I can feel it slowly sinking down my feet. The shaking was more intense. I eventually lose my grip. I fell, of what seemed like an eternity, from three feet above the ground. Seeing how humiliating this situation is, I tried to hold in my grin. I looked around to grasp where or what this strange location I was dropped in. Where am I-200 miles away from town?
I realize I am in the middle of Talackachumia Desert. I hear nimble footsteps approaching behind me. I turned around and see this strange figure nearing me. He is wearing a dirty white lab coat with green and red chemical stains. He is owning a wild, frizzy red hair that are darting in all corners, and his bushy white eyebrows is indicating that this fellow is mental. He is well-known for his bad brown-yellow teeth and thick glasses. Meet my friend, “Dr. Destroyer.” You see, 15x or more a year, Dr. Destroyer picks me up at a unsuspecting location; sometimes at a bar, my house, or occasionally a run to the mail just to solicit an angry response from my wife. Apparently, she hurt his feelings and now he’s bent on killing me, it never has never worked, though. He swings his pliers, and knocks me unconscious. I wake up in a dark room with flashing red lights. My hands and feet are bound. I am in some kind of interrogation room. I take a deep breath. “I’ve experienced worse,” I think to myself, “any time now, my wife and son, will bust me out of this mediocre-looking confinement, 2 hours before dinner-time.”