The thunder cracked louder now.Groaning across the sky with horizontal lightening bolts blitzing the dawning forests of Mount Porchenberg. Satisfied with his selection Migor tucked the large jar with the brain they needed sloshing happily in its preserving fluid under the oilskin sea cloak.As the sun strived to poke its fingers through the cloudy morning he clumped quickly along the street towards the Porch.
During the holiday break the Porchenberg road crew had repaired several potholes along the main street. As usual in their haste to get back to the porch they had done a less than careful job...more a pothole preservation than repair. The sticky black hotmix had glugged nicely into the road surface,a couple of tamps with a shovel ,a quick rollover with the antique roller and bobs yer uncle.Sadly for Migor and his peg leg the mix and the road surface were still of uneven consistency. The grinning hyaena ,chuckling and clutching the jar stuck his wooden leg deep into the sticky tarmac almost causing him to overbalance.... safe he thought....but as he attempted to remove his leg and hurry onwards it was stuck fast in the goop causing him to pitch forward sprawling into the mud. The jar containing the brain with life in it described a slow motion arc through the air smashing into a thousand shards as it landed.Its precious contents slurped lifelessly in a puddle of brain fluid and dirty rain water. Wiping the mud and tears from his eye he lifted the eye patch from his good eye and saw the horrendous mess that now confronted him. The brain had seemingly turned into one of those tasteless,bland ,watery curries with too much tomato twitching hopelessly as it dried out in the suns early rays.It was impregnated with shards of glass which caused a rather pretty glistening effect.
Too late now ! They would have to make do.
Migor slithered through the mire ,took his knife out and dug among remnants of his prized brain. He managed to skewer a nice largish chunk. Rising to his foot he held the half demolished lump of brain high. It slid down the blade to the hilt and dribbled its last cerebral juice down his arm and dripped in splotches as he scampered ,tongue lolling ,eyes wild, up the steps to plant the gift he had worked so tenaciously for but was now merely a stinking lump of carrion, on to the Porchenberg inn feasting table before the others awoke and came down to breakfast.
As he slunk from the hall he took a final glance at his handiwork. The brain with a knife in it sat proudly centre table...OK there was some oozing and it didnt smell nice....or look anything like a brain.
But it did have a knife in it.