I’m walking around inside a shopping mall at night.
It’s not an abandoned building, there are no zombies or mutant insects galumphing about; just me and the after-hours-and-mostly-dark indoor-city of stores and restaurants.
I wander past Rainbow Records, Orange Julius, The Sunglasses Hut. There’s a novelty toy store with this comforting phosphorescent glow up ahead.
I go in. I’m almost to the back of the store when something crashes down from above in a chaos of ceiling panels and dust: It’s Harrison Ford, as old as he is today, but in character and dressed as Indiana Jones.
The theme music from Raiders of the Lost Ark cues … and sputters, as at that point something is violently thrust through his torso from the back: It’s one of those perpetual wave machine things with the blue liquid inside that makes waves as it tilts back and forth. He’s looking down in shock, and I run out of the store, flying down an ‘up’ escalator, encountering a similar scene already in progress at
Hickory Farms, only a three-foot-long spicy summer sausage is protruding from his chest instead.
Spying an ‘EXIT’ sign, I sprint towards it, passing the Sweet Shoppe where Indy staggers with a yard-long multicolor-striped sugar stick jammed through the poor guy’s ribcage, followed by a Louisville Slugger skewering the seemingly-eternally-suffering Ford in the sporting goods outlet.
Reaching the exit doors, I discover that they’re locked.
Turning left, I see a spiral staircase descending into Cost Plus … Nuh unh, not gonna get trapped down in the World Market with a king-sized Toblerone sticking out of Indy’s chest, so I high-tail it up the nearby stairs, hoping to physically find a viable option of escape.
There’s a Hot Sam’s with the lights on and a revolving heated display case full of fresh soft pretzels, and I’m running to it, only to be met by (yep, you guessed it) Harrison Ford looking very tired with an impossibly big and totally unwieldy squeeze-bottle of mustard impaling him chestally at armpit-level. He speaks once, low and with obvious difficulty:
“Can we finish here, I’m just beat …”
I back away as he wobbles and slides down the wall, crumbling to a sitting position, mustard dribbling.
The overhead mall-lighting pops, hums, and snaps on mall-wide.
Bewildered, I walk to the now-visibly-ajar Emergency Exit, but not before noticing Chewbacca squeezed into a too-small red/blue/yellow uniform at the Hot Dog On A Stick:
He was wearing a hairnet, holding the biggest corndog I’ve ever seen, and crying.
—robbie edmonds
Flommist Robbie Edmonds would love to sit down with you and discuss his theories of mind-swapping and time travel, but it appears as if he, as his cat, just left to stop himself from doing so … AGAIN! Copyright © 2016 Robbie Edmonds. Source images found out and about the interwebs und tubes.
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