This is my entry in the Buds of Wrath Contest and Giveaway hosted by @dibblers.dabs in the Scholar and Scribe community.
Esta es mi participación en el Buds of Wrath Contest and Giveaway organizado por @dibblers.dabs en la comunidad Scholar and Scribe.
[ENG - English is not my language. I used Deepl for translation. I apologize if there are mistakes, words out of context or phrases that don't sound right. If you know Spanish, please read the original language version.]
Gravity
“Awwwwgrawg!” said Timmy Open-Mind as he tried to restrain his companions. He grabbed Colonel Cockroach by the shoulder, but only managed to get hold of a few tatters of skin. Tatters, he liked that word. In other circumstances he might have lost himself in it, he might have savored it, recreated its sound, but the graagh! of his companions wouldn't allow him to concentrate. They were almost upon the human. They were going to devour him, naturally. But Timmy was not a zombie like the others. He was hungry, true. But he would eat some leftovers later. Timmy liked to think, even though he had forgotten too many things. He couldn't get his head to put the pieces together. Why was the ceiling holding up? He couldn't figure it out. He had so many questions... What colors bloom in the mist? How do the textures work their way through the rivers of stone? Do the stalactites rise or fall? He seemed to remember that this last question was of vital importance, though he didn't know what for.
The man's screams woke him from his reverie. There was nothing to do, they were already eating him. How could they be so stupid. He thought that if God was really a balloon goat, he couldn't let that happen. He thought of the sublime, but the smell of fresh meat pulled at him with surprising force. He moved in for a bite to eat.
What does the taste of eyes remind me of, he wondered. He let his mind fly as he concentrated on the taste: trees, shoes, cherries, bricks, spring breeze. He couldn't remember. His head jumped from place to place, bewildered.
Timmy knew, however, that this was wrong, that they didn't have to eat the human. He remembered a scene. The doctor was talking to him. Something bad was going on. "Healthy food can help," he told him. And that phrase kept coming back again and again as he ate. But his companions couldn't understand it and he couldn't explain it. His mouth made only incomprehensible sounds. If he wanted to talk about philosophy, he just said rawwwwghwr. If he wanted to name elementary particles, he would say awwwarggraaa. If he wanted to talk about genetics, he said atgcttaagcc. If he wanted to solve a sum, graawrargraw. It was hopeless not to be able to call things by their names.
He picked up an ear that had fallen to the ground and began to chew on it. He disliked the cartilage a bit, too hard, though not as hard as the bones. The bones, however, he could suck on and found that satisfying. It was unfair that they were locked up there, farming for the bosses. But how to explain to the other zombies what justice was? It was green, no doubt, and very important. It was crunchy. But he lacked the elements to fully understand it. And if he had understood it, he could not have articulated the words to explain it. And if he had been able to speak, his companions could not have understood anyway. It wasn't right what the bosses were doing to them, but what was the good? A tin plate lying on the grass. That was all he knew about the good. It was as if the river of oblivion had splashed him.
The man was no longer screaming. Julia Cadavert and Ted Hunted had had their fill and were scratching at the wooden walls. It was their way of asking for more food even if they weren't hungry. Colonel Cockroach and Steve Stub, more gluttonous, were still eating. Timmy took advantage of the gap left by Julia and Ted and went over to eat more, indignant. The sense of injustice was growing in him. Why can't we smoke the same as the bosses, he wondered. The word rebellion appeared like a bolt of lightning in his head and stunned him for a few moments. He felt it like a fire, like something burning inside him. What did he remember about rebellion? Not much, only that in the past the chiefs were not the masters of the world and that the freshly cut grass formed a metallic rainbow over the sea. Ah, the sea, he thought as he tore off a piece of flesh with his teeth. He knew what they were doing wasn't right. How stupid we are, he thought. If healthy food can help us, why are we eating it?
Through the window, Timmy watched the chiefs. It was night, but there, in the chiefs' gazebo, it was bright. It was a party. The same party as every night, but this time it was special: Michelangelo had got hold of a twaxjoint. He had lit it and taken the first puff: his eyes had turned green and glowed. Old-world music -Raven, Trenton Lundy, Stick Up Boys- might have rattled the windows, but the windows had long since been unglazed. Michelangelo passed the twaxjoint to Zeus. A little farther away other bosses were dancing and smoking blunts and cross joints. Anna sensually moved her tentacle body, while Gamethief danced with his eyes until his eye nerves got tangled and he had to ask for help to untangle them. Now Zeus' entire body glowed with a green glow.
If only he could get up there and give it a puff, Timmy thought. But the robots were guarding the party: Spikebot-209 and L-417 were terrorizing him. There were other friendlier robots, like Fly-bot and Bucket-bot, but zombies definitely didn't get along with them. He remembered the time they wanted to eat Scarebot-2088. They were new there and had never tasted the flavor of metal. Scarebot-2088 was hard and cold, and the teeth split when they bit into it. A little farther away Zeus and Michelangelo were laughing their heads off. What an idea, wanting to eat a robot, said Zeus. The zombies then realized that robots were not healthy food. And the reality was that if they couldn't eat them, they didn't know what to do and were afraid of them.
Timmy looked at the gazebo. It was just a metal roof with six large columns. He had been thinking about it for several nights. But the ideas didn't quite add up. He had to solve simpler problems first. Flashback was offering pizza to Melissa and Cryptolocker. He was carrying it on tubes on his back. He wobbled back and forth, balancing on the pizza. Timmy wondered what would happen if the pizza fell. It was a problem that had been bothering him for a long time. Where would the slices shoot out to? Would they all go out the same way? Or would they scatter through the air in different directions? He thought that if he could get a pizza, he could drop it and find out. But this idea had many drawbacks. First, it was almost impossible to get a pizza. He would have to go through the robots and that terrified him. Second, assuming he managed to get a pizza, he was sure he would eat it before he could experiment with it. And third, even if he managed to drop it before eating it, nothing assured him that the result would be the same for all the pizzas: some might take one direction, others another. He was so disappointed... Maybe after all there was no way of knowing and the pizzas did what they wanted: if they felt like going towards your mouth, they went towards your mouth; if they felt like sticking to the ceiling, they stuck to the ceiling, and if they felt like turning into crickets, they turned into crickets. And yet, I thought I remembered that there was a law that pizza's had to do certain things that were expected of them. He remembered a long-haired, curly-haired gentleman having a pizza dropped on his head. That set a precedent.
He looked back at the bosses' party. The smoke from the joints was so thick he could barely see what was going on. Anna was dancing self-absorbed on Flashback's back. Gamethief's ocular nerves had become entangled in one of Cryptolocker's arms, which he was trying in vain to untangle. Gamethief was on the ground, asleep or passed out. Melissa and Michelangelo were joined in a deep kiss and glowing with that green glow that twaxjoint or love had given them. Zeus, on the other hand, was staring at Timmy through the window.
How Timmy managed to lock all his buddies in the bathroom is an unsolvable mystery. It's not even possible to know why there was a bathroom there. Things of the past, surely. What is certain is that when the robots, like every day, left a person there for the zombies to feed, in the room there was only Timmy. This time they had left a woman. The girl was paralyzed with fear. She was crying inconsolably, but almost silently.
“Grahawwgrawghh graah haargwwwgh,” said Timmy trying to soothe her.
It didn't work. He wanted to say "easy, I just want you to help me with something," but it sounded more like "I'm going to devour you, girl." He tried to get a little closer. The girl grabbed a fibula that was lying on the floor and threw it at him. Damn, he' d gotten one of the girls trying to defend themselves. How could Timmy make himself understood? He'd thought about that at length. He'd planned it, even, but he'd forgotten most of the details of his plan. Improvising is remembering, he thought. What a sublime thought, Timmy. How much truth there was in your words, my friend. Timmy looked around. He couldn't bear to hear the woman's screams. He took a skull in his hands, picked it up and dropped it. The skull crashed to the ground. The girl was still screaming. Timmy wasn't going to give up. Healthy food can help you, he kept repeating over and over to himself. He picked up the skull again and dropped it. To his surprise it fell back to the ground. Hadn't the same thing happened the previous time? He was very nervous and could not remember it clearly. The girl was crying. He tried again. The skull didn't hit the ceiling or the walls or turn into anything. It fell to the floor. What an interesting phenomenon, Timmy thought. He had never thought skulls could be so stubborn. But it was clear that his plan wasn't working. The woman was still frightened and he didn't know how to reassure her.
Then he remembered the wig. He had made it with so much care... He had sheared Carla, Julia and a sheep. He had glued the wavy hairs to a piece of dry human skin. He had combed it with much love and dedication. He took the wig, which was hidden inside a bale of hay, shook it out and put it on his brain.
“Grh?” said Timmy, flirtatiously, wanting to ask: "Does the wig fit?”
The woman looked at him in disbelief. She had expected to be devoured by a horde of zombies and now she was a spectator in some kind of play. Timmy picked up the skull again and dropped it. He made a thoughtful face. The woman didn't understand. Timmy tried to remember. There was a man. A pizza was hitting his head. And that was the secret of the universe. But there were so many things missing. He had to concentrate on the details. What was the man doing? He closed his eyes. He counted to five slowly: one, seven, eight, five. He saw the man sitting under a tree. Then a pizza was falling on his head and staining his curly hair. The man cursed. Damn goat, he said. Timmy was happy, Timmy had remembered. He then sat down on the hay bale and dropped the skull on his wig. He looked at the woman expectantly. He repeated the operation at least a dozen times, until the woman risked a response:
“Gravity?” she said, "Newton?”
Gravity. His head lit up in a thousand different ways. He thanked the goat. He smiled. He was so happy. He felt the fragments of his broken head find their way back. He offered the girl a namaste-like gesture.
“Each particle attracts another particle with a force proportional to the product of their masses and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them," said the woman.
Timmy stared at her blankly.
“If you let go of something," she explained, speaking very slowly, "it always falls down.”
Now Timmy had the answer. Now he understood so many things. He took off his wig and let it fall to the floor. Gravity, he thought. He picked it up again and let it fall. Gravity, he thought. Then he went to the bathroom door and pulled the latch. The door burst open and out came his friends. They were so stupid. They didn't know anything about gravity. The woman was screaming heartbreakingly. The zombies were already devouring her. A human leg was sticking out from among the bodies of his companions. The smell of fresh flesh tugged at him with universal force. Gravity, he thought, and set about eating.
Timmy looked out the window. Up in the sky, the moon or the sun was shining, he couldn't remember. It was a cold night, but the bosses were still partying. They smoked joints and ate pizza, danced and laughed. The robots were bored. They wanted to smoke and eat, but life was unfair to them too. They were sad. Timmy imagined a world without bosses in which robots and zombies cultivated the land and shared the crops. His head burned despite the cold. His ideas were coming together, forming little islands of meaning. He gazed long and hard at the gazebo. A metal roof supported by six large columns. He put on his wig to think better. He mentally reviewed what he knew: the gentleman under the tree, the pizza, the things always falling downward.
“Grawwwwwwwghiiiii,” said Timmy out loud, as he stroked the hairs of his wig.
And by that he meant gravity.
Gravedad
—¡Awwwwgrawg! —dijo Timmy Open-Mind mientras trataba de contener a sus compañeros. Tomó a Colonel Cockroach del hombro, pero solo consiguió hacerse con unos jirones de piel. Jirones, le gustaba esa palabra. En otras circunstancias podría haberse perdido en ella, la podría haber saboreado, recreado su sonido, pero los graagh! de sus compañeros no le permitían concentrarse. Ya estaban casi llegando al humano. Iban a devorarlo, como es natural. Pero Timmy no era un zombie como los demás. Tenía hambre, cierto. Pero ya comería algunas sobras luego. A Timmy le gustaba pensar, aunque había olvidado demasiadas cosas. No lograba que su cabeza uniera las piezas. ¿Por qué se sostenía el techo? No podía comprenderlo. Tenía tantas preguntas... ¿Qué colores florecen en la niebla? ¿Cómo se abren paso las texturas por los ríos de piedra? ¿Las estalactitas suben o bajan? Creía recordar que esta última pregunta tenía una importancia vital, aunque no sabía para qué.
Los gritos del hombre lo despertaron de su ensueño. No había nada que hacer, ya se lo estaban comiendo. Cómo podían ser tan estúpidos. Pensó que si Dios era realmente una cabra con forma de globo, no podía permitir que eso sucediera. Pensó en lo sublime, pero el olor de la carne fresca tiraba de él con una fuerza sorprendente. Se acercó para comer algo.
¿A qué me recuerda el sabor de los ojos?, se preguntó. Dejó que la mente volara mientras se concentraba en el sabor: árboles, zapatos, cerezas, ladrillos, brisa primaveral. No podía recordarlo. Su cabeza saltaba de un lugar a otro, desconcertada.
Timmy sabía, sin embargo, que eso estaba mal, que no tenían que comerse al humano. Recordaba una escena. El doctor le hablaba. Algo malo estaba pasando. “La comida saludable puede ayudar”, le dijo. Y esa frase volvía una y otra vez mientras comía. Pero sus compañeros no podían comprenderlo y él no podía explicarlo. Su boca solo profería sonidos incomprensibles. Si quería hablar de filosofía, solo decía rawwwwghwr. Si quería nombrar a las partículas elementales, decía awwwarggraaa. Si quería hablar de genética, decía atgcttaagcc. Si quería resolver una suma, graawrargraw. Era desesperante no poder llamar a las cosas por su nombre.
Tomó una oreja que había caído al suelo y comenzó a masticarla. El cartílago le desagradaba un poco, demasiado duro, aunque no tanto como los huesos. A los huesos, sin embargo, podía chuparlos y eso le resultaba satisfactorio. Era injusto que estuvieran allí encerrados, cultivando para los jefes. Pero ¿cómo explicarles a los demás zombies qué era la justicia? Era algo verde, sin dudas, y muy importante. Era crocante. Pero le faltaban elementos para comprenderla cabalmente. Y de haberla comprendido, no podría haber articulado las palabras para explicarla. Y si hubiera podido hablar, de todos modos sus compañeros no podrían haber entendido. No estaba bien lo que les hacían los jefes, pero ¿qué era el bien? Un plato de lata tirado sobre la hierba. Eso era todo lo que sabía sobre el bien. Era como si el río del olvido lo hubiera salpicado.
El hombre ya no gritaba. Julia Cadavert y Ted Hunted se habían saciado y rascaban las paredes de madera. Era su forma de pedir más comida aunque no tuvieran hambre. Colonel Cockroach y Steve Stub, más glotones, seguían comiendo. Timmy aprovechó el hueco dejado por Julia y Ted y se acercó a comer más, indignado. La sensación de injusticia crecía en él. ¿Por qué no podemos fumar nosotros lo mismo que los jefes?, se preguntaba. La palabra *rebelión *apareció como un rayo en su cabeza y lo dejó atontado por unos momentos. La sintió como un fuego, como algo que le escocía en su interior. ¿Qué recordaba sobre la rebelión? No mucho, solo que en el pasado los jefes no eran los dueños del mundo y que la hierba recién cortada formaba un arcoíris metálico sobre el mar. Ah, el mar, pensó mientras arrancaba un pedazo de carne con los dientes. Sabía que lo que estaban haciendo no era correcto. Qué estúpidos somos, pensó. Si la comida saludable puede ayudarnos, ¿por qué nos la estamos comiendo?
A través de la ventana, Timmy observaba a los jefes. Era de noche, pero allí, en el gazebo de los jefes, había mucha luz. Era una fiesta. La misma fiesta de todas las noches, aunque esta vez era especial: Michelangelo había conseguido un twaxjoint. Lo había encendido y le había dado la primera pitada: sus ojos se habían puesto verdes y brillaban. La música del viejo mundo —Raven, Trenton Lundy, Stick Up Boys— podría haber hecho vibrar los cristales, pero hacía rato que las ventanas no tenían cristales. Michelangelo le pasó el twaxjoint a Zeus. Un poco más lejos otros jefes bailaban y fumaban blunts y cross joints. Anna movía sensualmente su cuerpo de tentáculo, mientras Gamethief bailaba con sus ojos hasta que los nervios oculares se le enredaban y tenía que pedir ayuda para desenredarlos. Ahora todo el cuerpo de Zeus brillaba con un resplandor verde.
Si tan solo pudiera llegar hasta allí y darle una pitada, pensó Timmy. Pero los robots custodiaban la fiesta: Spikebot-209 y L-417 lo aterrorizaban. Había otros robots más amables, como Fly-bot y Bucket-bot, pero definitivamente los zombies no se llevaban bien con ellos. Recordaba la vez que se quisieron comer a Scarebot-2088. Eran nuevos allí y nunca habían probado el sabor del metal. Scarebot-2088 era duro y frío, y los dientes se partían al morderlo. Un poco más lejos Zeus y Michelangelo se reían a carcajadas. Qué ocurrencia, querer comerse a un robot, dijo Zeus. Los zombies comprendieron entonces que los robots no eran comida saludable. Y la realidad es que si no podían comérselos, no sabían qué hacer con ellos y les temían.
Timmy observaba el gazebo. Era solo un techo metálico con seis grandes columnas. Hacía varias noches que venía pensando en ello. Pero las ideas no terminaban de cuadrar. Tenía que resolver primero problemas más sencillos. Flashback le ofrecía pizza a Melissa y Cryptolocker. La llevaba sobre unos tubos que tenía en su espalda. Se tambaleaba hacia un lado y el otro, haciendo equilibrio con la pizza. Timmy se preguntó qué pasaría si la pizza se cayera. Era un problema que lo preocupaba desde hacía tiempo. ¿Hacia dónde saldrían disparadas las porciones? ¿Saldrían todas hacia el mismo lado? ¿O se desparramarían por el aire en diferentes direcciones? Pensó que si podía conseguir una pizza, podría dejarla caer y averiguarlo. Pero esta idea tenía muchos inconvenientes. Primero, era casi imposible conseguir una pizza. Tendría que atravesar a los robots y eso lo aterrorizaba. Segundo, suponiendo que lograra conseguir una pizza, estaba seguro de que se la comería antes de poder experimentar con ella. Y tercero, incluso si lograse dejarla caer antes de comérsela, nada le aseguraba que el resultado fuera el mismo para todas las pizzas: algunas podrían tomar una dirección, otras otra. Estaba tan decepcionado… Quizás después de todo no había forma de saberlo y las pizzas hacían lo que querían: si tenían ganas de ir hacia tu boca, iban hacia tu boca; si tenían ganas de pegarse en el techo, se pegaban en el techo, y si tenían ganas de transformarse en grillos, se transformaban en grillos. Y, sin embargo, creía recordar que había una ley que obligaba a las pizzas a hacer ciertas cosas que se esperaban de ellas. Recordaba que a un señor de pelo largo y enrulado se le había caído una pizza en la cabeza. Eso sentaba un precedente.
Volvió a mirar la fiesta de los jefes. El humo de los porros era tan denso que apenas podía ver lo que ocurría. Anna bailaba ensimismada sobre la espalda de Flashback. Los nervios oculares de Gamethief se habían enredado en uno de los brazos de Cryptolocker, que intentaba en vano desenredarlos. Gamethief estaba en el suelo, dormido o desmayado. Melissa y Michelangelo se unían en un beso profundo y brillaban con ese resplandor verde que les había dado el twaxjoint o el amor. Zeus, en cambio, miraba fijamente a Timmy a través de la ventana.
Cómo hizo Timmy para encerrar a todos sus compañeros en el baño, es un misterio insoluble. Ni siquiera es posible saber por qué había allí un baño. Cosas del pasado, seguramente. Lo cierto es que cuando los robots, como todos los días, dejaron allí una persona para que los zombies se alimentaran, en la habitación solo estaba Timmy. Esta vez habían dejado a una mujer. La chica estaba paralizada de miedo. Lloraba desconsoladamente, pero casi en silencio.
—Grahawwgrawghh graah haargwwwgh —dijo Timmy intentando tranquilizarla.
No funcionó. Quiso decir “tranquila, solo quiero que me ayudes con algo”, pero sonó más bien como “voy a devorarte, muchacha”. Trató de acercarse un poco. La chica agarró un peroné que estaba tirado en el piso y se lo arrojó. Maldición, le había tocado una de las chicas que tratan de defenderse. ¿Cómo podía Timmy hacerse entender? Había pensado en eso largamente. Lo había planeado, incluso, pero se había olvidado de la mayoría de los detalles de su plan. Improvisar es recordar, pensó. Qué pensamiento tan sublime, Timmy. Cuánta verdad había en tus palabras, amigo. Timmy miró a su alrededor. No soportaba escuchar los gritos de la mujer. Tomó un cráneo entre sus manos, lo levantó y lo dejó caer. El cráneo se estrelló contra el suelo. La chica seguía gritando. Timmy no iba a darse por vencido. La comida saludable puede ayudarte, se repetía una y otra vez para sí mismo. Volvió a tomar el cráneo y lo dejó caer. Para su sorpresa volvió a caer al suelo. ¿No había ocurrido lo mismo la vez anterior? Estaba muy nervioso y no podía recordarlo claramente. La chica lloraba. Hizo un nuevo intento. El cráneo no se estrelló contra el techo ni contra las paredes ni se transformó en nada. Cayó al suelo. Qué fenómeno tan interesante, pensó Timmy. Nunca había pensado que los cráneos pudieran ser tan testarudos. Pero era claro que su plan no estaba funcionando. La mujer seguía asustada y no sabía cómo tranquilizarla.
Recordó entonces la peluca. La había confeccionado con tanto esmero… Había esquilado a Carla, a Julia y a una oveja. Había pegado los pelos ondulados a un trozo de piel humana seca. La había peinado con mucho amor y dedicación. Tomó la peluca, que estaba escondida dentro de un fardo de heno, la sacudió y se la puso sobre su cerebro.
—Grh? —dijo Timmy, coqueto, queriendo preguntar con ello: “¿me queda bien la peluca?”.
La mujer lo miraba con incredulidad. Esperaba ser devorada por una horda de zombis y ahora era espectadora de una especie de obra de teatro. Timmy volvió a tomar el cráneo y lo dejó caer. Puso cara pensativa. La mujer no entendía. Timmy trató de recordar. Había un hombre. Una pizza le golpeaba la cabeza. Y ese era el secreto del universo. Pero faltaban tantas cosas. Tenía que concentrarse en los detalles. ¿Qué hacía el hombre? Cerró los ojos. Contó hasta cinco lentamente: uno, siete, ocho, cinco. Vio al hombre sentado debajo de un árbol. Luego, una pizza le caía en la cabeza y le manchaba su pelo enrulado. El hombre maldecía. Maldita cabra, decía. Timmy estaba feliz, Timmy había recordado. Se sentó entonces sobre el fardo de heno y dejó caer el cráneo sobre su peluca. Miró a la mujer expectante. Repitió la operación al menos una decena de veces, hasta que la mujer arriesgó una respuesta:
—¿Gravedad? —dijo— ¿Newton?
Gravedad. Su cabeza se iluminó de mil formas diferentes. Agradeció a la cabra. Sonríó. Estaba tan feliz. Sentía que los fragmentos de su cabeza rota encontraban el camino de regreso. Le ofreció a la chica un gesto parecido a un namasté.
—Cada partícula atrae a otra partícula con una fuerza proporcional al producto de sus masas e inversamente proporcional al cuadrado de la distancia entre ellas —dijo la mujer.
Timmy se la quedó mirando sin comprender.
—Si soltás una cosa —le explicó hablando muy lentamente—, se cae siempre para abajo.
Ahora sí, Timmy tenía la respuesta. Ahora comprendía tantas cosas. Se sacó la peluca y la dejó caer al suelo. Gravedad, pensó. Volvió a tomarla y a dejarla caer. Gravedad, pensó. Entonces fue hasta la puerta del baño y corrió el pasador. La puerta se abrió de golpe y salieron sus amigos. Eran tan estúpidos. No sabían nada de la gravedad. La mujer gritaba desgarradoramente. Los zombis ya estaban devorándola. De entre los cuerpos de sus compañeros sobresalía una pierna humana. El olor de la carne fresca tiraba de él con una fuerza universal. Gravedad, pensó, y se dispuso a comer.
Timmy se asomó a la ventana. Arriba, en el cielo, brillaba la Luna o el Sol, no lo recordaba. Era una noche fría, pero los jefes igual estaban de fiesta. Fumaban porros y comían pizza, bailaban y reían. Los robots se aburrían. Deseaban fumar y comer, pero la vida también era injusta para ellos. Se los notaba tristes. Timmy imaginó un mundo sin jefes en el que los robots y los zombis cultivaban la tierra y se repartían las cosechas. La cabeza le quemaba a pesar del frío. Sus ideas se iban uniendo, formando pequeñas islas de sentido. Contemplaba largamente el gazebo. Un techo de metal sostenido por seis grandes columnas. Se puso la peluca para pensar mejor. Repasó mentalmente lo que sabía: el señor debajo del árbol, la pizza, las cosas que caen siempre hacia abajo.
—Grawwwwwghiiiii —dijo Timmy en voz alta, mientras se acariciaba los cabellos de la peluca.
Y con ello quiso decir gravedad.
The image is taken from the Hashkings GitBook with the permission of the developers.
La imagen está sacada del GitBook de Hashkings con el permiso de los desarrolladores.
@agreste this one is awesome! I laughed, but somehow it is also serious! I like the descriptions of the hashkings raid bosses and their party, really pleased you managed to incorporate so much !PIZZA as well. Very well done! I'm sure Timmy will figure it out and start up his rebellion eventually! !ALIVE
Thank you very much! Yes, I think Timmy's life is a bit of fun for readers, but also sad, confusing, puzzling. But I'm confident Timmy is going to make it through that rebellion!
@agreste! You Are Alive so I just staked 0.1 $ALIVE to your account on behalf of @dibblers.dabs. (1/10)
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nice entry! good luck at the contest!
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¡Muchas gracias! !PIZZA
Yay! 🤗
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That is the single most brilliant thing I’ve ever, ever read. That’s a flight of superb imagination of the type rarely seen. I laughed, I cried, I have not overcome the destitute feeling, nor the tangles of the wig. Oh, my, respect!❤️💕🤗
Thank you so much! I'm so glad you liked it and I'm really flattered by your comment. !LUV
@agreste(1/1) gave you LUV.
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Lol... @agreste, where do you get your imagination from? 😂. This is so so so hilarious. I wonder how you got to paint mental pictures of all these unthinkable scenarios. Perhaps, Hollywood may have to make this movie. Hehe. What a sight!
Nice. The weird thought about Pizza actually got me. I'm one of those that is still imagining what to do with myself whenever I get an opportunity to eat pizza. Still haven't had any till date. Hehe. I hope I don't get disappointed the day I throw a slice of it into my mouth.
Thanks for submitting this on DreemPort. It's a good one. Will be up for Curation tomorrow.
lol, I really don't know where these things come from, I just start writing and the events take shape, and I surprise myself as I write them.... You never ate pizza? You could make a pizza with just a few ingredients: flour, water, yeast and some tomato sauce and cheese. But even a slice of bread with cheese on top could serve as a pizza (here the pizza purists will surely disagree). Thank you very much for your comment and I leave you a digital pizza slice: !PIZZA
Hahah... Now that I think of it, I can still recall that I have had a lot of PIZZA from that pizzabot. Hehe.
Thanks for sharing the story. It's adorably interesting