Read Online The Pickled Apocalypse of Pancake Island by Cameron Pierce - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cameron Pierce
Ads: Link
start a new colony somewhere else in the universe. If the last happy place was dead, we were its only shot at harvesting another.
I heard them shuffling around before I reached the ground floor. I stumbled a few steps from the bottom and fell the rest of the way down. I sprang up, ready to defend myself against the pancakes, but they were not coming in my direction. Their pattering steps moved toward the kitchen. They'd broken down the front door in no time at all.
My arms trembled. They were almost too heavy to lift. I balled my hands into fists and tucked them beneath my chin. I felt so scared and alone, but if I didn't rescue Fanny and show these pancakes who was boss, the fright and aloneness would never go away.
I marched down the narrow hall that led from the stairwell to the kitchen. Three pancakes scuffled toward me. I swung my fists at them. Green syrup gushed from their bodies. I punched and punched, crushing them as if they were overgrown garlic spiders. But soon as I'd mowed down the first batch, another came. Simultaneously, a chorus of moans broke out behind me. I flailed my arms, hoping to fight my way into the kitchen and to the dungeon door before the pancakes surrounded me in the hall.
I took down pancake after pancake. Their soggy carcasses piled up as they came into punching range. Soon, I wasn't just punching the brains out of the living pancakes, I was also kicking at the dead ones. I had to in order to keep moving forward. The moaning from behind approached fast.
I thought of the faces. The faces. The faces that would smother. I turned and ran back in the direction of the stairs, because in that moment, my fear of the smothering faces overcame my fear of losing Fanny, and by the time I overcame my own impulsive action, I was already running up the stairs. Pancakes swallowed everything beneath me.
The flapping sea of pancakes continued to rise. I had a clear path to the rooftop, but no way down from there. I'd have to face the smothering. I'd have to face it for real this time. I couldn't let Fanny Fod down anymore. After all that I'd taken, all I'd destroyed, to come all the way from Pickled Planet to find true love and manifest a nightmare, it had to come to this.
The words of the dead sun returned.
It is like being subject and object all at once. The boundaries between your perceptions and the world disintegrate.
That was the way it happened with Fanny and I during our first night together, when our lips met and we shared a yummy dream. We expanded beyond ourselves and swallowed each other. It was the greatest feeling ever.
I dove into the swarm of pickled pancakes. I resisted the initial urge to struggle, to swing my fists. Don't fight, I told myself. Don't fight don't fight don't fight.
I closed my eyes and let the pancakes drag me under. I envisioned their bodies as the molecules of Fanny's peanut butter lips, and that she was swallowing me whole. I sank deeper into the phosphorescent green confusion of bodies. A living lake of syrup and brine.
The pickled pancakes carried me toward the door of the dungeon. I could not see for myself, for the crowd blinded me, but they also propelled me forth. I trusted them now. They did not want to eat me or seek revenge for pickling their island. Maybe they were pickled, but so was I.
Sucking in mouthfuls of maple syrup and pickle brine, I thought how peculiar Fanny's and my children would taste, if we were to ever surface from this mess and she forgave me and we settled down and WHAM!
I slammed right into the dungeon door. The pancakes cleared a space around me, in which I staggered. No longer buried in pancakes, I was still up to my waist in fluids.
" Haaaaappppiiiinnnessssss. . . ." the pancakes moaned.
I tried the door and found it locked. "Fanny, it's me," I called. "Everything is fine. We're safe. The pickled pancakes are our friends."
"Go away, Gaston. You're a disease," Fanny said.
" Haaaaappppiiiinnnessssss. . . ." the pancakes moaned,
I heard them shuffling around before I reached the ground floor. I stumbled a few steps from the bottom and fell the rest of the way down. I sprang up, ready to defend myself against the pancakes, but they were not coming in my direction. Their pattering steps moved toward the kitchen. They'd broken down the front door in no time at all.
My arms trembled. They were almost too heavy to lift. I balled my hands into fists and tucked them beneath my chin. I felt so scared and alone, but if I didn't rescue Fanny and show these pancakes who was boss, the fright and aloneness would never go away.
I marched down the narrow hall that led from the stairwell to the kitchen. Three pancakes scuffled toward me. I swung my fists at them. Green syrup gushed from their bodies. I punched and punched, crushing them as if they were overgrown garlic spiders. But soon as I'd mowed down the first batch, another came. Simultaneously, a chorus of moans broke out behind me. I flailed my arms, hoping to fight my way into the kitchen and to the dungeon door before the pancakes surrounded me in the hall.
I took down pancake after pancake. Their soggy carcasses piled up as they came into punching range. Soon, I wasn't just punching the brains out of the living pancakes, I was also kicking at the dead ones. I had to in order to keep moving forward. The moaning from behind approached fast.
I thought of the faces. The faces. The faces that would smother. I turned and ran back in the direction of the stairs, because in that moment, my fear of the smothering faces overcame my fear of losing Fanny, and by the time I overcame my own impulsive action, I was already running up the stairs. Pancakes swallowed everything beneath me.
The flapping sea of pancakes continued to rise. I had a clear path to the rooftop, but no way down from there. I'd have to face the smothering. I'd have to face it for real this time. I couldn't let Fanny Fod down anymore. After all that I'd taken, all I'd destroyed, to come all the way from Pickled Planet to find true love and manifest a nightmare, it had to come to this.
The words of the dead sun returned.
It is like being subject and object all at once. The boundaries between your perceptions and the world disintegrate.
That was the way it happened with Fanny and I during our first night together, when our lips met and we shared a yummy dream. We expanded beyond ourselves and swallowed each other. It was the greatest feeling ever.
I dove into the swarm of pickled pancakes. I resisted the initial urge to struggle, to swing my fists. Don't fight, I told myself. Don't fight don't fight don't fight.
I closed my eyes and let the pancakes drag me under. I envisioned their bodies as the molecules of Fanny's peanut butter lips, and that she was swallowing me whole. I sank deeper into the phosphorescent green confusion of bodies. A living lake of syrup and brine.
The pickled pancakes carried me toward the door of the dungeon. I could not see for myself, for the crowd blinded me, but they also propelled me forth. I trusted them now. They did not want to eat me or seek revenge for pickling their island. Maybe they were pickled, but so was I.
Sucking in mouthfuls of maple syrup and pickle brine, I thought how peculiar Fanny's and my children would taste, if we were to ever surface from this mess and she forgave me and we settled down and WHAM!
I slammed right into the dungeon door. The pancakes cleared a space around me, in which I staggered. No longer buried in pancakes, I was still up to my waist in fluids.
" Haaaaappppiiiinnnessssss. . . ." the pancakes moaned.
I tried the door and found it locked. "Fanny, it's me," I called. "Everything is fine. We're safe. The pickled pancakes are our friends."
"Go away, Gaston. You're a disease," Fanny said.
" Haaaaappppiiiinnnessssss. . . ." the pancakes moaned,
Similar Books
