QUACKY
The light reached Frank’s home, an onion-domed hut set in a glade surrounded by trees. Frank, the trilobular chuck-buster, had lived there for as long as he could remember, and though he had no idea why or how he had come to inhabit the place, he knew it to be his. Though open to the elements and of indeterminable floor plan, this little house was Frank’s shelter from the bedeviling caprices of the Unifactor.
Frank’s house had simply been given to him, like everything else.
QUACKY
Frank was in bed, sound asleep. By his side were his demi-godling companions Pupshaw and Pushpaw.
Pushpaw was unconscious, his vast bulkhead empty of thought. Pupshaw slept with one eye open. She had had a premonition of impending evil and was not going to be caught napping. She was ever ready to jump up and ferociously repel any intruder at the merest hint of a forlorn squeak in the house.
Pushpaw’s vast bulkhead was empty of thought.
QUACKY
At the first touch of light on his supersensitive chops Frank awakened and hopped out of bed, glad to be alive. He ran out the door and stood in his front yard, staring stupidly up into the sky. How he loved it! He swayed, he danced, he waltzed with the weather as if blindfolded and fearless, incapable of making a false move. When he opened his mouth to laugh it was as if his jaws stretched to encompass everything.
Frank stood in his front yard, staring stupidly up into the sky.
QUACKY
Frank wanted to embrace the sky, to take it in his arms and feel its shimmering power. He made the effort — and succeeded! He was enfolded in the rapturous embrace of nature’s everlasting sweetness. His yearning filled the aching void of the Unifactor with exquisite devotion. He couldn’t dance deeply enough.
He was in ecstasy. Before too long he became tired. He stopped dancing and went inside for breakfast.
He succeeded! Please look away.