Weredog Tart (13)

   
   "Weredog Tart (13)"
   
   Siria and Lance were in the school's cafeteria, the obese yet friendly lunch lady scooping them a meatloaf gelled together by some type of possibly ectoplasmic mix, or so it seemed; plus, there were some greasy green beans and neon-lime jello to further fill the belly, all funded by the benevolent government, making sure the public school system had yummy stuff to further calcify the pineal glands of youth, shrinking the pea sized glands to a microscopic size--all so we don't know the rotten tomatoes of truth.   
   Lance played with his food, not eating save the mini carton of milk; however, Siria gobbled up her meatloaf, a supernatural digestive tract allowing for absorption of only the sublime ingredients, like the bread crumbs with a dash of herb for the service of man.
   After burping her consumption and a weird giggle of sorts, Lance looked at her oddly, until noticing those arctic-blue eyes that showcased the Otherworld, and she reached across the table and grasped his hand, feeling his suffering from a father putting too much pressure on his slow motion brain, due to incubation, and being fed by a tube through the brain, a mother to never hold him for over a month, and now lost, driven off by the same diabolical father that blamed him for it all.
   Out of nowhere she blurted:  "You should get a dog.  Golden Retrievers are great, sometimes exuberant, and if bred aggressively, they can show aggression, especially if they have brown noses."
   Lance, head down, said:  "My Dad wouldn't allow it."
   Siria offered:  "I'll be your dog; your best friend."
   Lance continued:  "You're no dog Siria.  You're freaking beautiful."
   Siria with:  "The world is bigger than most people know."  Then, she winked an arctic-blue at him, lashes so long and lovely.