The holes in Swiss cheese are called eyes.

                                                                     –Trevor

There was once a world born in darkness on a block of Swiss cheese packaged for shipping to a grocery store in Toronto.

This world was called Howard, and its people, whether secretly or not, shared a view of the universe that could only be called Howardcentric; less than three Earth hours old, it occupied the area of roughly one grain of barley.

Families on Howard took it upon themselves to supplement their children’s predominantly dairy-based diet with gulps of air hastily inhaled from a tiny hole in the plastic packaging enveloping them. The main trade was eye-jumping. The main form of exercise was eye-climbing. The only method of waste management, eye-chucking, would one day prove lethal to the careless bachelor who tucked the block under his shirt before bolting down the milk isle and out the store’s automatic doors.   

The Green Fuzz Oracle lived by the hole since anyone could remember and managed the air supply with a thinly veiled dictatorial demeanor. Sometimes he asked for dances, sometimes the shoes off people’s feet, and sometimes he asked for sacrifices, most of which he would rescind at the last moment because he figured that is what an Oracle should do to prove his authority.

 He kept the opening clean of mold, and thus ensured that the air was safe to eat, by wearing the mold as a second skin and consuming it to achieve communion with the rumbling God outside the cheese-tinged plastic.

It was The Oracle who first proposed the name Howard as a gentle-sounding greeting to appease the God. He said it frequently and heard it in various forms during his fungus-induced trances.

Howard? H-Howard…Howard!

So much so that The Oracle knew the name had to stand for everyone, everywhere, and everything.

And when the rumbling periodically stopped as the transport truck came to a red light or weighing station, he never missed an opportunity to publicly remind Howardeans of their devotional duty.

A handful of exits away from the grocer’s off Highway 401 a young woman approached The Oracle and requested a meal. She was naked, thin and white, a canvas for the blue veins twirling about her body. She knelt before him. Her hands she cupped and stretched outward and her mouth she opened wide with the abandon of a believer in line for a wafer.

Seeing that she had nothing material to offer, The Oracle waved her over to get a better look. She dragged her knees across the smooth, white surface. The Oracle leant forward and looked into the girl’s eyes finding them the same green as his living clothing; for this reason, and for this reason alone, he shifted aside and allowed her passage.

The girl’s lips surrounded the breezy gap like a suction cup and she inhaled ferociously with the kind of greed only the starving are permitted. Then, a metallic rustle birthed a wave of light that brought with it widespread blindness.

Howard was, and he was good.