Today is a short entry that covers what might happen if author Stephen King decided to write about little plastic bricks. I've been flipping through the pages of The Stand and like a catchy bit of music, I felt compelled to get King's style out of my system. Below is my interpretation of his version of playing with LEGO bricks. The LEGO man sat in quiet contemplation outside the gas station, his arm dangling out the window of the massive black Chevy. A single drop of blood fell from his fingers to the pavement making a wet smacking noise as the tendril of a plant sucked it up hungrily. A soft sigh escaped his lips as the radio emitted short static bursts instead of Jerry's Morning Zoo-Case.
It was only a matter of time before the dogs would come, they would be the first to turn. A single howl broke the heat haze that had settled in downtown Hannibal, Missouri, and the LEGO man absentmindedly patted the shotgun on his lap. He was about to find out that it didn't have a single shell loaded. Not a one.
The Photo is of Christine, the maniacal car, by Azaghal Gabilzaramul.
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