Instant Karma ... The Lives of Trehorn Sandhu-Smythe
— Life 16037 —
Trehorn felt the whoosh of the first swat. He flexed his wings and rose to the left, but he didn't completely escape the second swat.
A stubby, rough hand caught him with a glancing blow and sent him reeling into semi-consciousness. His flightpath disappeared, and he spun helplessly before dropping like a stone to the hardwood floor.
For a minute, he buzzed in a small circle like a tiny motorcycle out of control.
"This reincarnation journey is getting tedious," he thought as he searched frantically for some kind of safety through his forward feelers.
Then in the upper facets of his compound eyes, he saw it — a bare foot, scuffed and pitted with dead, yellow layers of skin, descending over him like a wrecking ball.
He squirmed to his right, but the calloused foot was too quick.
A moment of nothingness and then a kaleidoscopic downward spiral into a pit of colourful fractals, colours he seemed to absorb into his body.
Suddenly, Trehorn felt almost prehistoric. His small body rippled with bony armoured plates over his back and down his hindquarters, a somewhat fortunate anomaly, because Trehorn had tumbled through an open window and crash-landed upside down on a Formica-hard surface with a resounding thud. He quickly righted himself, and his long tongue flicked into the air. He could taste more than smell the sweet aroma of bacon cooking in a Teflon coated frying pan nearby.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or actual events is purely coincidental.
— Life 16037 —
Trehorn felt the whoosh of the first swat. He flexed his wings and rose to the left, but he didn't completely escape the second swat.
A stubby, rough hand caught him with a glancing blow and sent him reeling into semi-consciousness. His flightpath disappeared, and he spun helplessly before dropping like a stone to the hardwood floor.
For a minute, he buzzed in a small circle like a tiny motorcycle out of control.
"This reincarnation journey is getting tedious," he thought as he searched frantically for some kind of safety through his forward feelers.
Then in the upper facets of his compound eyes, he saw it — a bare foot, scuffed and pitted with dead, yellow layers of skin, descending over him like a wrecking ball.
He squirmed to his right, but the calloused foot was too quick.
A moment of nothingness and then a kaleidoscopic downward spiral into a pit of colourful fractals, colours he seemed to absorb into his body.
Suddenly, Trehorn felt almost prehistoric. His small body rippled with bony armoured plates over his back and down his hindquarters, a somewhat fortunate anomaly, because Trehorn had tumbled through an open window and crash-landed upside down on a Formica-hard surface with a resounding thud. He quickly righted himself, and his long tongue flicked into the air. He could taste more than smell the sweet aroma of bacon cooking in a Teflon coated frying pan nearby.
