jayda adler

Benjamin Link

Michael Ceraso

English

The man named Ronaldo, the one who stood at seven foot tall, at exactly seven-o-five am as his gentle wife brought coffee and biscuits to the table, the big oak thing that he'd carved himself from her father's wild walnut tree, it was him who did what no other could imagine.

“Praia…” his gruff voice trailed. Tilting her head, Praia’s face fixed with concern. He continued, “I… I just can’t keep doing this.” 
“D-doing what?
“These… abominations.” He gestured pointedly at the biscuits.
“The digestives?”
“They aren’t the real deal! We both know that.”

As if they heard him, long legs sprouted from the biscuits. Eight legs each taller than two men on top of each other. The biscuits rose like alien spiders, discarding their fake Popeyes wrappers. Praia screamed. Her boyfriend scowled. The alien biscuit spiders licked their lips.

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