That doesn't make any sense!

A spark from a fire
That had burned out long ago
It takes eight minutes

The landing is a clean one; as clean a landing as any. The passengers evacuate their seats, carrying their trophy hams. Outside on the tarmac, the welcoming committee awaits. It consists mainly of refurbished Victorian furniture, with a few world war 2 veterans thrown in for good measure. As the passengers leave the massive, winged, SUV, using the provided slip 'n slide apparatus, something strange begins to occur. Rather than welcoming the returning guests home, the committee began shouting obscenities. Being one to take offense, I retaliate with automatic fire from my ar-15. The crowd disperses, the furniture doesn't stand a chance. I mow through rows of antique chairs, dressers, tables. Hours later, I would find out that the cheese did in fact, not belong to anyone. But I digress, I began to reload when I noticed that my goat guide had dipped into my reserve of avalanche honey. I became infuriated at once. It had taken me years to extract the honey from the pores of bears, vacationing in Vienna during the uncle celebrations. I turn my weapon of indiscriminate life giving onto my former friend and ally. The goat returns the favour in kind. A small red line appears under my Canadian spelling. The lacking of any paragraphical formatting also becomes evident to me, as does the use of a word not yet in existence. There we stand, an old Ethiopian stand off. By now the passengers are going through the shreds of fabric and wood that once was their welcoming party; their eyes filled with pastry custard as they grieve. Neither the goat nor I mind any pay to this matter. In fact, the only thing that matters, to the two of us, is the shape of the moon's fast approaching crescent from underneath the matte rug. He blinks. I fire. The act of self preservation, echoed a thousand times over in the splattering of brain matter across the ballroom floor. He has children. I am aware of this fact. The casing evaporates before it hits the ground. I smile and hold up a roll of Mentos to an unseen audience; breaking the fourth wall, only, there is no fourth wall. There is just me. And then there is not.

They see each other
They smile uncontrollably
And they don't know why