Linty Fresh

There was nothing Mack Farelli despised quite so much as a Monday. This 24 hour period habitually managed to undo any relaxation squeezed from the weekend and sour the rest of his week. It was, without fail, positively abysmal.

And the Monday that fell on the 3rd of January, 1955, wasn’t particularly dissimilar to the ones that preceded it. Naturally, he’d stumbled over Rupert his bloodhound on his way out of bed, causing the next foot to careen frantically into the nightstand. (The large toenail of this foot, notably, was nowhere to be found.)

So, while clutching his mangled appendage in agony and hopping in the shower, Mack contemplated extending his weekend in an effort to dodge this most loathsome day; but a single, innocent bar of soap would spare him this decision, for this small, waxy sliver of deceit had craftily positioned itself out of his vision and directly in the path of his bouncing heel.

At 7:35, Mack’s neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Harold Beadsley heard a crash they would blame on another of his typical tantrums at the start of each week. It was, of course, no tantrum, but instead the thud of Mack’s body onto the shower floor. He was thus whisked away to a realm of unconsciousness that would spare him the throbbing pain of a head wound that would eventually require 7 stitches.

Ostensibly, this alternate reality would serve as a haven from the increasing unpleasantness of things, but sadly even his subconscious had no defense for those ruinous Mondays. Still, the dream began innocently enough, with Mack enjoying the simple serenity of his favorite diner with his strawberry pop and turkey sandwhich.

And then the windows exploded.

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