Santa's Gift for Dr Peter Daszak
Copyright© 2021 by Kim Cancer
Chapter 1
“Dark, grotesque figures, in a soundless rage, attacking with the fury of a Florida man...
“Dark actors, leading Mickey Mouse to a prison shanking in the shower.
“Yessir, it was all angles and no curves. The blood hunter’s ghost marriage proposal, that anagram in The Lancet ... All this while the doctor radiated heat, felched by a broken mirror. The doctor’s stethoscope and sphygmomanometer taking shape in the steam.”
The city’s neon panorama was shrinking in the rearview. The river of animation scattered into faint, winking pinpricks of light.
Curving along an empty highway, the Cadillac clattered further into gathering tendrils of mist. The car’s engine grinding, like the gnashing of teeth.
Santa Claus was at the Caddy’s wheel, wheezing and sniffling. Then Santa squinted, hit the high beams. The air outside was becoming increasingly befogged with a chalky dust, the fog glowing in an almost iridescent whiteness...
“It’s wrong on more levels than a broken elevator. I tell you what ... The higher up Huang Yanling climbed, the more she showed her ass.
“She just had the worst case ever of the butterfingers. Up and fumbled that Frankenstein dish. Then she pressed her eyes shut, as if in prayer, and hung her round face low ... a setting moon ... Yessir, you can bet a kidney that a whole long list of exonerating lies went tumbling through her head.
“But little did she realize how many horrible things had already flown out: hatred, hunger, pain, poverty, disease and death. All of life’s miseries, let out into the world.
“Just one, just one ... one wrong move altered the course of human history. The CCTV footage of that fumble, oh brother! It’s up there in the panopticon, somewhere, for sure. Too bad we don’t have a Lizzy Salander to dig up that database ... Talk about pictures worth a trillion words.”
Santa’s nose trickled blood. His jowls hung low, boiling in layers of anger. He had hot, dark rings of pain beneath his blue eyes, and a tangly mess of white hair curled down to his neckline. A silky menace colored his tone as he spoke.
“The Supreme Leader, Brother Snake God, when he got the word, he had the sad face of a chained monkey. Gotta wonder how many messengers he snuffed out, before he sniffed the opportunity, before he fed the demons.
“Brother Snake God did in his dentures, soccer kicked over a row of tombstones, knocking them down like dominos, and then Brother Snake God commanded his comrades to open the zoo gates, concoct a cauldron of rumors ... Yessir, Brother Snake God only chooses people he can control.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.