Toy-soldiers-complete

The battle for the living room floor began at 0300 hours under the shadow of the mahogany coffee table. General Ulysses S. Grunt, a three-inch plastic soldier cast in a permanent mid-stride sprint, stared across the vast expanse of the beige shag carpet. To a human, it was a rug. To the 1st Plastic Infantry, it was the High Grass of the Forbidden Zone.

The toy soldiers scrambled up the velvet slope. It was a chaotic blur of green and purple. Just as Grunt reached the summit, fingers closed around the TV remote, his plastic boots slipping on the leather surface. He looked up into the bulbous, unblinking eyes of the Alien Commander. toy-soldiers-complete

The hallway door creaked open. A giant silhouette appeared—the Boy. “I knew I left it here,” a thunderous voice boomed. The battle for the living room floor began

The enemy was formidable: the Galactic Raiders, a ragtag group of neon-purple aliens with oversized heads and translucent blasters. They held the strategic high ground of the Ottoman Cliffs. To a human, it was a rug

“Listen up!” Grunt hissed, his voice a tiny vibration in the air. “The Great Thumb has been gone for two sunsets. If we don’t secure the Battery Pack from the TV remote by dawn, we’ll be stuck in the dark when the Vacuum Beast awakes.”

The standoff lasted an eternity. Then, a beam of light cut through the room.

“Man down!” Grunt cried silently. “Ignore the beast! Advance!”