Romeo and Soviet

Starry Dwight

You turn around to see that Dwight is still running, chioggia in hand. "I'll get you for this," he screams, and his steps accelerate. As you run away from Dwight, your feet make a sensual mushing sound in the ground, moist as phlegm. "Follow me," Karl whispers, and leads you behind a tree. You stand, Karl protectively clutching your elbows, and breathe deeply, listening to his heart echo in his chest cavity. You love the beating of his heart so much that you would rip it out of his chest and sleep with it at night if you could.

All of a sudden, Dwight flies from the bushes, sharpened beet at the ready. He tackles Karl, and they fall to the ground, wrestling like two beavers during mating season. They continue to roll around on the forest floor, their legs intertwining, and their bodies growing ever closer. "Stop it, I'm frail," Karl murmurs breathlessly, but Dwight can't hear a sound over the noise of his own exaggerated panting. You can see the underlying tension between them, as only a beet separates their souls.

A rumbling is heard from the tall evergreens, and Petroshka emerges, hungry and lustful as ever. She roars mightily, and picks Dwight up with her strong jaws. She ambles away, carrying a protesting Dwight.

You look at Karl, and his face is flushed with anticipation. However, his face contorts into anguish as realization dawns on him. "Ugh, I totally forgot I owe Mischa a beet-tastic dinner."

Your heart drops as you ask hesitantly, "Who is Mischa?"

"Oh, that's just...my wife." He sighs and his eyes roll like the ripples on a lake when a bear walks by. "That reminds me, there's something I need to show you." He grabs your hand, and it makes a sound reminiscent of a whale emerging from the sea. He then leads you, frolicking arousedly through the grass and trees.

You arrive at his house, and it's unlike anything you've ever seen before. It's in the shape of the greatest symbol of all: a sickle. You gasp, unable to comprehend its beauty and glory. As you stand in awe, a gentle breeze with the odor of fresh cooked beaver pelts wafts to your nostrils. 

"Shall we?" Karl murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. You clutch his left elbow and begin to walk inside, anxious for what you might see.