5. Time is a Liar

"Yes, but you know as well as I do that we've got an unnatural number of these creatures here. No one cares about us, Sylvia."
"But I could be at home right now-- I've got the bait traps and spray, I..."
"It's an military-industrial desert. You think they're going to send somebody or even put it on the news? What-- it was about six years ago wasn't it? The pterodactyl? And you said yourself you saw something funny in that tree about a week ago. They'll believe us once we can form a consensus."
"A consensus?!" Sylvia was livid, now, in every possible way. "A consensus, Tom? Last person listened to you got a split schedule and six preps for the entire length of the 5-year contract, didn't he, Tom. There's your consensus. Get me my purse."
"They'll be here in a minute. Do you want to lay down?"
"On that oviparous filth pit? And it's lie, you prick." She was fishing a little plastic bottle of Benadryl caps out of her purse and weeping softly.
Then she puked yellow all over November. The pages became immediately gold-opaque, backed with the deep brown of wet cardboard at the end of the year.
"Oh, Tom! You *burble* suck so much!"
The bubbled remains of a time-release Wellbutrin continued to spin in a bile puddle on the ghostly diagonal line between 12/24 and 12/31.
"Huh huh huh..." Sylvia was sobbing now, and her face was magenta. "Don't you know I once loved you?"