the rust-colored Mississippi sky.

I killed my computer. Not really, but I killed the monitor. I left it on while watching tv during a particularly hot day and when I went back to the computer there was the smell of burnt rubber in the air. It's not the smell of brakes screeching or tires churning gravel, but the smell of insulation melting and wires fusing, cleaving together in one last electron-swapping orgy like may flies celebrating their short lives under the rust-colored Mississippi sky. It was the smell of electronic death and it hung thick in the air. The stench was cold syrup, straight from the refrigerator, being poured over my room of pancakes; Pancakes being cooked over a griddle under the rust-colored Mississippi sky. I laid my hand on the monitors brow, expecting to feel the cold-touch of death, instead the plastic was on fire. The hot embers of death were still smoldering inside its broken shell, making the monitor's enternal slumber a feverish dream. It was hot, hot like a griddle cooking pancakes under the rust-colored Mississippi sky.

The End.