Head cases

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“God, please help me see things as they are.”

A simple prayer, one that Elvin Meister thought even God could understand. Of course, God was also the same perverted architect who had built Overton from the ground up, with its threatening spires and plenty of shadowed, teeming alleys. Such a God could not be trusted, but Elvin had been taught that prayers never hurt, even if they often fell on deaf ears.

Elvin’s eyes had been bothering him for some time. He’d first noticed a month ago, when the talking head on the television screen grew ears that were slightly elongated and pointy, like those of a marsupial.

“Gretta,” he’d said to his wife of seven years. “Does the picture look strange to you?”

Gretta, busy in the kitchen with clattering dishes and a gurgling coffee pot, gave her usual impatient sigh and said, “The Tylers down the hall just got a flat screen and we’re still stuck with an antenna,” she said. “Of course the picture’s strange.”

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