Once a wacko fell right off the ceiling. Smack dab in the middle of a table at the type of charity dinner held more and more frequently for those in need. To see it sprawled there in a tureen of thin soup, bubbling at both ends from the fright it had given itself, was startling, to say the least. Hadn’t anyone noticed it hanging upside down where the slightest misstep could land it precisely where it had fallen and splatter the guests for that night with the consequences? Hadn’t anyone been paying the slightest attention? Wackos weren’t exactly an unknown species, after all, particularly during periods of elevated heat that prompted them to more-than-usual displays of aggressiveness. As their body temperatures and brain temperatures soared, they could be observed scurrying about in broad daylight with ever-greater speed and self-assurance, no longer crawling furtively here and there as they once had in order to avoid detection. While in the depths of the night, shining a beam into any dark corner might reveal knots of these thick-skinned creatures huddled close as if plotting an all-out assault upon the unsuspecting. Their aggressive intent became increasingly evident as larger and larger wacko cabals made bold to move from the shelter of obscurity right across the open expanse of the ceiling. From one day to the next, drawn together in a chorus of heated croaks that sounded much like angry children beating a worn-out drum, their strident din made it almost impossible to keep one’s wits about one. Many appeared actually to thrive on being constantly up in the air, congratulating themselves on their single-minded purity of purpose in having remained virtually out of touch with the ground their entire lives. So why hadn’t anyone raised the alarm before the wacko in question had fallen into the soup, soon to be joined by others of its species who lost their footing as well and rained down upon the unfortunate diners like a plague even the Bible couldn’t have prepared them for? Until this frenzy of wriggling, hissing wackos left none of the bounty laid out for a hungry public unspoiled. Until only a rapid cooling of the climate to more temperate conditions might offer any hope of bringing an end to this unnatural horror.
Copyright © 2011 by Geoffrey Grosshans