Posts Tagged ‘Tomas’

Tomas and I frantically assembled our defense turrets before the next Alien Swarm could arrive.  His sentry gun was nearly complete, but my missile turret was taking longer than expected.  The metal grating beneath our feet began to move and a large trap door in the factory floor split open to make way for a rising platform.

Two sentient robot cars emerged from the darkness below.  Tomas and I knew this was our only chance, and we each jumped onto a car.  I positioned myself on the roof of the blue Dodge Challenger as quickly as I could, tucking my legs  into the open windows on either side.  Just as I was seated, the car peeled out with a roar of acceleration.  Tires screeched and the car blasted out of the factory into a dirt field, hurling dry soil and clods of grass into the air behind us.

Tomas’ car wasn’t far behind and the two machines began weaving in and out of each others path, tearing through the countryside in a playful game of chase.  We blew passed my parents’ house in Cottonwood and I leaned to the left, guiding the car in a tight turn that tossed a wave of gravel in our wake.  I underestimated the car’s path and found myself in a collision course with a white wooden fence.

I closed my eyes and the car smashed through, hitting a dip in the ground and pitching up sideways.  Throwing my arms out to the side I ditched, leaving the car to tumble sideways and roll over and over in a chaotic crash of sheering metal and broken glass.

I picked myself up off the ground, brushing dirt from my clothes and hair.  A shadow fell across the ground in front of me and I turned to see MC Hammer.

“You’re in trouble now!” he said. “I told you not to be messin’ with my cars.  Now you’re grounded.  No going to the docks for you!”

I hung my head in disappointment and shame.


Justin handed me a printout of the Google Maps Streetview of my parent’s place in Cottonwood.  There was a large blank lot where the barn should have been.

“Ah yes,” I said.  “This was before we built the barn for the animal sanctuary.

Three Years Earlier

Kevin, Tomas, and I were busy at work putting up the rafters to go in the new barn.  It would house the sanctuary’s monkey population.  The monkeys were lending a hand, climbing up the walls on specially made rigs to hand us hammers and nails.  Tomas took a break to go cuddle with some of the baby monkeys, cradling them in his arms.

I called down to him, “Tom, quit playing with those damn monkeys and help us!”

“They’re not monkeys, they’re apes you son of a bitch!”  Sure enough, they were in fact chimpanzees.  At Tomas’ swearing, one of the chimps jumped down from his arms and said, “Oooh, you used a bad word!  I’m telling!” and then ran off into the bushes.