Blue Foot Flakes

“Welcome to Motherboard Road Surgery. Please listen purposefully to the following fifteen options…”
My feet are hurting too much for fifteen options.
Weird thing.
Started on each of my big toes as no more than a mild, achy chafe. After a few months (during which I hadn’t bothered to do a self checkup, or whatever it’s called) scaly patches had formed around the heels. Some with faint hairs sticking painfully through the cracks. Couple more days went by before I looked again. Wish I hadn’t.
The hairs had turned luminous orange.
My toes were in no better shape either. Protruding from the outer edge of each of my big toes were what appeared to be tiny, malformed fangs. The tips of which had curled downwards and began biting into the hard skin underneath.
Then the orange hair developed blue dandruff. Then the cat died. Then my sister shot at my house with a desert eagle. Then the newspapers went out of print. Then Brother Dewey drove himself and his wife and kids off the Silicone Ford Bridge.
And I wondered how the obituary would read before realising that there were no papers.
I sat with the little urn, crowned with an elaborate pewter lid and embossed, gold paw print, and picked strands of glowing, orange hair out of my socks.
Then I emptied my boots of the blue dandruff.
Then I tapped the WebCell on the wall next to me. Nothing.
What with everything, I’d forgotten that they’d shut down the Internet too.
I drew pictures in the cat litter with a piece of graphine wire.
A cock.
A fanny.
A dog.
A cat.
Two eyes.
The sun.

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