Eyesore
A donky lies down on his back for a nap. His name is Eyesore because someone spelled his name wrong.
Eyesore pretends his four hoofed feet are walking on cold lava interspersed with diamonds. He wiggles and wriggles them and struggles to remember what walking looks like without having the ground to lead him. If he lunges with his front feet simultaneously, a stretch will occur laterally in his midsection and his back feet will try to rebound elastically to join them. However, if he initiates movement with his two left feet, the stretch plane will be vertical, and vice versa if he chooses to initiate with his right feet.
These options are too much for Eyesore, so he doggy paddles. It looks ok, he thinks, and the simultaneous movement of all four quadratic limbs probably burns the most calories among all known swim strokes if it were to be thoroughly tested and vetted in a non-replicable, no wait, nay-replicable longitudinal study.
The journey continues.
Eyesore treads carefully upon the coiled snakes of galaxies. The snake bodies are such natural paths to take, he thinks, because they look just like roads. He imagines he is as light as a cloud, and his paddling footsteps are the most energy efficient mass propellers in the whole wide world web. None of that sticky icky spider tricky can catch him, though he wishes he had brought some of that sticky icky donky knip on this trip, with a capital silent K.
An idea takes chokehold of his dry mouth and mind. He makes a wish. The wish is that a sticky icky plant is within mouth reach, but he doesn’t want to check. It would be too much of a disappointment to get his hopes up, only to look around and find nothing but see weeds.
But check he does, that ruthless risk taking bastard of Beelzebub.
Shit, he thinks upon immediate inspection. Just some scat.
“I’ve lain in someone’s toilet,” he says in dismay.
“I hope it’s not a bear’s,” he replies.
“Odd, I should have smelt it. My snuffleupagustofwind must be on the fritz,” he said, and cursed like a sailor:
“Fishsticks!”
He started pulling back for a cleansing sneeze, when he noticed that his paws were no longer climbing the snake in the sky. He desperately doubled his previous pace to make up space and time.
He was pedaling so fast a thought climbed up his brainstem and he yelled it:
“I’M GOING RIGHT INTO THE FIFTH DIMENSION!”
Oh noes.
Another thought rose.
“What if I should be going left into the fifth dimension?” and his pace slowed with his depression.
He was uncertain of direction and desperately wanted to take a nap to snap back to whatever was old hat in the third dimension. A bowler perhaps. Yes a bowler. A bowler would be a good choice.
“Oh,” he said.
He was at the end of the road and so stopped pedaling his stationery unicycle. There wasn’t a snakehead though, if you were wondering.
THERE WAS ANOTHER ROAD
“Oh yeah,” he said, and he hopped right on the downhill slalom with his skateboard.
And he went on forever, until he was eaten by a bear, taking magical trips on winding spiraling snake road, gazing at the snow globe above and picking diamonds from the rough cold lava.
Yep, poor old Eyesore convinced himself that spirals couldn’t be circles, so he must be going somewhere, even if the road did look familiar with every new circuit. Bears always whinney.