even the squirrels were suicidal

Here’s a bit of nonsense narrative I wrote today.

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It was a non-day, the kind of day that didn’t know what kind of day it was. The blame lay squarely with the weather which couldn’t make up its mind so it tried resting somewhere in the middle.

There were white cloud-like wisps hovering in the sky but they could hardly qualify as clouds nor could you say the sky was clear. There was light from the sun but no real evidence of a sun in the sky. The sound of howling winds filled the air but only the faintest breeze could be felt.

Indecisiveness spread like a disease into every aspect of existence. It short-circuited electricity. Rocks disintegrated, then pulled themselves back together. Questions settled into bones, driving almost every living creature mad.

You’d think people would be happy in a world that didn’t exist in extremes but they weren’t. It made them nervous and unsettled. They had gotten used to subsisting on resolute certainty at the outer edges of possibility. Without the most fanatic options available, their identity vanished. They became unhinged.

Grown men flopped about nude on their driveways like beached whales. Women walked in circles around themselves gnashing their teeth until they were nubs and their hamburger gums dripped blood down their chins. The spectacle left the rare middle-of-the-roader cowering in basement corners.

The combination of unhinged humans and universal indecision proved too much for animals. They could barely tolerate humans on the best of days. Mainly they became suicidal.

Birds dive-bombed cars and houses, shattering their beaks and brains into shingles, glass and metal.  Even squirrels, those playful teasers that normally just dash across the path of moving vehicles, ran head-on into oncoming traffic. The only creatures left unaffected were cats. They didn’t give a shit. They curled up and slept through the day.