MR MEADOW MET HIS MATCH
Mr Meadow saw what loomed like a huge black cloud descending upon his little settlement, his "place" of the evening. The wispy wetness blurred into what resembled a gigantic human hand, palm facing him. Moving slowly, like a shadow in the dark night, it struggled to keep itself between Mr Meadow and the lamp ("lamp", same four letters..extra credit, maybe l'll be allowed back next week? If I clasp my palms together in supplication?)...this lamp, a light source, is what gave the puffiness its palminess.
On with our story, boys and girls:
As Mr Meadow crawled around the table, to evade perceived danger, he felt the friendly fibers of the carpet--this time, impeding his rush to escape. He felt the stickiness, did Mr Meadow, his legs were seemingly without power to move away from this now room-filling palm of cloudiness. Those hairs on his face stood straight out in the coldest of fear, that life, so dear, was about to be terminated.
At that singular moment, two things simultaneously occurred. Mr meadow knew his demise was imminent...at the exact same time he heard the voice pierce the cloudy airless area. "I've finally got close enough to spray you, you damn PALMEADOW!"
This is a Theme Thursday post.