What if a title was typed on a whim and only served as the improvisational starting point for what followed? Huh, interesting. I will proceed.
Does PETA have scouts in all corners of the literature world? Maybe key words cause their computer alarms to blink and send shrieking alarms that the towns folk mistake as a tornado warning in downtown Pickelton. While the patrons of Pickelton panic, the actual message gets sent to a tiny apartment in uptown Denver, or Cap Hill as the locals refer to it.
Somewhere near the Jelly breakfast joint on 13th street, a young man sits in his window smoking a Marlboro that he bummed from a bum. The cigarette itself was well passed needing to be ashed. You see, Gordon had went into deep thought, back to his childhood on a small Wisconsin farm. The memories of trimming goats for the fair and the crush he had on all three of the Whippling triplets floated in and out of his Coffee induced thought coma.
Gordon forsook his given name of Vibrant Rainbow Catcher somewhere between third grade and getting his ass kicked for every time he strolled to the Whippling farm… which was everyday. The Hunker brothers would take time off from beating each other up, or wrestling pigs, to pound on the love stricken Rainbow boy, as they called him. Gordon felt the bruises and bumps were a small cost to pay to lean on the fence and drink lemonade with Katrina, the eldest of the triplets. Katrina never asked why he smelled like pig poo and Gordon never asked about her tattoo of Kermit the Frog in Merlin’s robe.
Katrina was 42 minutes older than Samantha, and exactly 3 hours and 33 minutes older than Veronica. She knew Vibrant Rainbow Catcher liked her the best, because of her seniority and all. Gordon would hold hands with Katrina on the school bus into town. He would never allow anyone to sit with him, not even Samantha or Veronica… unless Katrina stayed home due to illness or “SHIT!”
The wind had picked up in downtown Denver and blew the hot spark onto Gordon’s leg, jolting him back to present time. He noticed a blinking on his computer and went to check it out. He scrolled through his list of warnings and came across “PETA: Tiny Dancing Mice.” He was less shocked than the inhabitants of Pickelton, who had reached a thankful calm and retreated to their television dens to catch the last 12 minutes of Survivor.
With the push of a button, Gordon looks up this post and gasps. Then he sips on a Mountain Dew and laughs. “Well, holy shit, it all makes sense now!” He was, for the first time in his life, entirely relaxed. “It’s all fiction! The money thing, status, starvation, homelessness, greed!” Even the annoying prick at the DMV made sense to Gordon now.
Gordon sat back in his chair and wondered what Katrina was doing now.