Just before I succumbed to the long sleep, I’d wish for cartoon physics…so running off the cliff leaves us hanging until we look down, and falling we whistle in the air; so smells are visible in wavy lines and cars whoosh past with speed lines; so cats are foiled in their scheming and mice are smart; so hunters talk like babies and all guns are springloaded with signs that say “Bang!”; so Amazon is replaced by the mail-order monopoly ACME, which doesn’t ship with cardboard boxes but massive pine crates; so strapping oneself to an enormous firecracker seems like a good idea at the time, as does catapulting a boulder, as does boarding up the windows and doors before checking to see who else might be inside. And whenever we’re lost it will be because we took a wrong turn at Albuquerque. And then, moments after I’m buried, I will be able to dig myself back out in a fury like The Tasmanian Devil, and declare, “Why you put me in the cold, cold gound?!”
John Minichillo wrote The Snow Whale, and you need to read it.