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The Words

"What's got into you today, Marty? You don't sound like yourself," Pam says. She's concerned, exactly why I like her.

I say, "The National Security Agency has embed words not my own into Broca's area which controls speech in the brain's left hemisphere. It's a sting operation to make random persons commit terrorist violence."

"Since when the neuroscientist? You're talking paranoia." She, a non-drinker, tosses back a cup of vodka.

"I could've poisoned that drink." NSA's words, not mine. I know it's a lie but the Surveillance Squad likes to play games. Pam, the last person I want dead.

"Don't try to be someone else." She twists her hair around her fingers, and her face turns ugly. "What are you up to?" Had she seen me and others load a U-Haul?

"I have big plans."

Pam's eyes are red-rimmed. "What kind?"

"Helpers will strap explosives around my body and I'll detonate the Statue of Liberty."

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"Yes. In two days, ka-boom."

"Why tell me this? You know I have to call the FBI."

When I strangle her to death tears flow like never before.

Story by:

George Sparling

gsparling@suddenlink.net

www.scenesofdisaster.blogspot.com

5 August 2013