~1~
By Paul Sherman A zit! A bloody zit had appeared on his chin. Jim Trumble poked at it with his index finger. Pressed it. Put a finger on both sides of it and squeezed until his eyes watered from the pain. But nothing happened. The zit was not ready to burst, so he couldn’t relieve the angry red bump that shone out like an arrant beacon on his face. He could never go out in public looking like this. Jim stood naked in front of his full length mirror, as he did every morning, and scanned his perfect skin for any other imperfections. There were none, just this ugly mother of a carbuncle. Where had it come from? He’d kept his body, his Temple, healthy, ate the right food, and got enough exercise. For instance, he never missed his morning jog. It was a compulsion his body thirsted for. On wet days, he revelled in the splashing noises his feet made, whilst on sunny days, the dry earth felt firm and good under him. Best of all, early in the year, the grass was starched with frost and made a satisfying crunching noise, while his breath left a vapour trail in his wake. Most of all, he just fell in love with the sound of the blood pulsing healthily in his ears.