Vermillion

Ia (Insignificant aide, curses be unto him and his infidel offspring) grunts as he drops the two hundredth bag of potatoes at the edge of the large pile in the pantry. The evening sun lights the air with the dust from the potatoes. Their earthy odor is thick, and Ia's back feels like its going to come undone.

M (Also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) is standing at the pther doorway, surveying Ia's work with increasing disdain.

M: What kind of shit have you been smoking, you ass! Youre slow as a cow today.

Wither Withers?

Ia (Insignificant aide, woe unto him and his ignorant lot) tries hard to mask his boredom. Cooped up all day in a room that is more dreary than the grey skies outside, with one tiny window to see the snow pile up on the fenders of the cars across the streets, three floors below, Ia keeps himself entertained whistling tunes he has never heard in his life. The whistling does not go on for long though, and he stops as his sinuses begin to complain.

Ia wonders if his situation could possibly get any worse. Before that thought can travel far, M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) bursts in through the narrow white door.

M: Well ,well, well. Gooood afternoon, my man. I have great news for you!! you have just been chosen to have the privilege of helping me. Mind if I borrow your window?

As a suicidal Ia looks on, M proceeds to draw a hacksaw from his bag, carves out the window, and leaves.

Ia is frozen stiff in about two hours.

Earplugs

Its a kinder, gentler afternoon; a welcome change after day upon scorching day of summer's torrid punishment. M (also known as Dr.T, praise be unto him) steps out into the warm sunlight and closes his eyes. The soft wind ruffles the grass and makes the tiny flowers dance among the golden blades.

His mind wanders away, to distant lands beyond the seas. To rivers that ebb at dusk, leaving silver sands in the moonlight. To rolling grassland speckled with gnarled trees. To foreign places, to familiar faces, to highland malts sweet as honey.

M: This is good shit, man! mmmm

Insignificant aide (Ia, curses unto him and his ignorant lot): Yes, sire. This batch of weed has been simply divine. These are good times we live in, O esteemed leader, when one can find such exquisite leaves right outside one's own apartment.