“Houdini gut punch!”
Gavin's soul's clenched fist thrust through the sac of fermenting fish flesh Eric had become. He over-extended though, and clipped a buzzard flying overhead. As it fell to the ground like a feathered brick, it became clear that it was actually a glass trinket designed to look like a weeping logician.
“Another needless casualty,” Gavin was heard to remark as his face, smeared with the telltale pink taint of libido, emerged from the hole his fist had created in Eric's bloated belly.
Eric slurred some words back at him, but to all intents and purposes their meaning was lost. Jets of photo-voltaic foam spit from his wide open maw arced in strange patterns, criss-crossing and blending into each other as they danced in the potential gradient, before softly tumbling to the ground like feathers in a vortex. Or maybe a million feathered logicians made of irreal glass, massless and almost symbolic more than anything.
Gavin's soul felt itself disintegrating into tangents as it unwound from Eric's being. Apparently a soul can't exist without some kind of binding to the world. Gavin didn't mind, he would rather un-exist than stay bound to a rotten fish pile.
Eric murmured that it was the man with the gun what did the thing that made that other thing that he did to Gavin happen. The last twist of fabric that constituted Gavin's soul was able to form a final thought, “Damn it, I should have known... zombie bullets,” before a wave of Cartesian logic excrement pulsed across the room like a single strobe light. He didn't think, therefore, he didn’t was.
R. A. Harris lives in England, a merry land made up inside his head. He writes bizarre fiction and some of it gets published. Go here: www.leakylibido.wordpress.com to see some of his famous flash work.
Copyright 2013 R.A. Harris