The Little Martian screeches like a baby banshee, his voice reverberates through the valley and all the tittering bulbuls in the bushes, take flight, startled!
“What the duck LM?” I ask, jolted out of my pleasant midmorning coffee haze
“It's all so messy!” He starts. “Everything is falling apart!”
I look at his perfectly ironed shirt, the creaseless bedsheet that stretches starched upon his immaculate four-poster bed. The walls are a creamy white, and kaleidoscopic sunlight bounces off it dramatically.
“You're literally in paradise,” I tell him.
“But everything is falling apart!” He squeals, picking at the seams of his perfectly tailored suit. A stray thread pops, wary. He picks at it, till his little jacket unravels completely.
“Aaaaaaaaah!!!!” He howls, his ivy jowls shaking, watery eyes melting into flaming yellow tears.
Thwack!
A feather slaps him across his face and he looks up startled at the firm gentleness of its airy violence.The Little martian floats to the floor in a melodramatic heap and looks up at the ceiling beseechingly.
"Why God? Why me?"
I toss him a PB and j and look away as he inhales it in a greedy mouthful.
“Better?”
He grins, sheepish.
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