I fell to earth with a rusted knife

I fell to earth with a rusted knife.  For many years I nested on a tree-shaped cloud like a wicked bird.  One day, for no good reason, I blinked my eyes and plummeted to the ground.  Wicked birds do not fly, they plummet.  The ground was wet.  I rubbed mud on my face.  My powers were immense. 

I landed at the feet of a poor stupid man.  While he stood there stammering, I undressed him and cut him into five hundred pieces.  Each piece was a perfect cube.  It took me less than one second.  The smell of wet earth made me sick.  To diminish my nausea, I performed a meaningless feat of amazing physical and mental dexterity.  With my eyes closed, I stacked the man’s remains into a menacing rectangular prism.  It was perfect.  God did not weep at my evil act.  He laughed if he noticed at all.  I laughed too, gazed at my knife, and lithely pressed it into my left eye.  This game continued until the rusted blade peeked through my right eye.  I did not blink, though the movement of the knife was very slow.  The experience was sublime and lasted exactly 56 minutes. 

Elegy for Some Ninjas

Ninjas laid siege to a convenience store for three days during last year’s endless winter.  They came from nowhere and slid down ropes tied to leafless willows.  Though frost covered the ground, their feet left no tracks.  Soon the ninjas were nested upside down, like spiders, peering through the corners of windows.  As dust settled on boxes of pop tarts and rows of gum, as hot dogs slowly wheeled around their small heated cell, these silent killers waited.  Their patience was empty, because the world had already ended.  These ninjas were the only men left alive, and though they were the last to go, they too soon were dead.