By Jonathan Byrd
The first ice cream sandwich hits the ground and we all scramble. Seconds later, we hear the scream of the F-18s above. Looking up, we can see more ice cream sandwiches falling from the sky. This is jihad of the worse kind.
We watch those unlucky enough to be caught in the street as they are pelted with horrible frozen death. One lady claws at the ice cream sandwich imbedded in her forehead. Her eyes bulge out as the horrible brain freeze begins to take hold. None of us go to help her. It wouldn’t matter if we did, her fate is sealed.
Another man comes screaming toward our hiding place. He is now more ice cream sandwich than man. The horrible brown and white snacks of death cling to his body, freezing him from the outside in. He stumbles, falling to his hands and knees, still screaming. He makes a few lurching attempts to crawl to us, only to fall over, succumbing to the horrible chill.
Peeking out, we can see the last of the F18s in the distance. The street is littered with frozen corpses and melting ice cream. The cleanup will begin soon. Government response vehicles, the Red Cross, volunteers with hot coffee will descend upon the town. We all hurry to our homes or the nearest T.V. The Premier will address the populous soon. He’ll give us the number of dead or wounded. He’ll tell us how many gallons of ice cream was dropped in sandwich form. Most important, he’ll tell us how we will respond to this unconscionable attack.
BIO: I began writing strange, dark, and bizarre stories in the 4th grade. That year, I was referred to the school psychologist after writing a story mimicking Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart. Over the years, I have let my “sick mind” (quoted from so many authority figures) have its way with pen and paper. My work has been featured by the Mustache Factor, Bizarro Central, Linguistic Erosion, 69 Flavors of Paranoia, and forthcoming on In Between Altered States, and Short, Fast, and Deadly.