| General Fiction posted April 17, 2014 |
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Still Defies Description
Dear, Everything Dear-Part Two
by michaelcahill
A break in solitude can be a desired thing, especially if it was of a temporary nature. Winter would pass in due course, and the infants would be welcomed by the sisters at the convent. But, this was a winter he would never escape. His death was uneventful and quiet and it would be some time before he was missed, not that he wasn't well thought of. He was. It was a simple matter of no one expecting him to show up anywhere.
The wolves came later that day in response to the change in scent. Winter had been difficult for them as well, and the possibility of a meal, even a poor quality one, was compelling. For Laserta, the matriarch of the pack, the sound of babies tickled some urge deep within her.
Though hungry, something in the purity of a child's yearning quelled her own appetite. Skylook, the dominant male, did not share those feelings with Laserta. He thought only of one thing, food. However, there would be no contesting Laserta in this matter. Skylook, having not the luxury of choice, would settle for the ample, but not delicious, meal the friar would make.
Laserta gathered up the three human babies and brought them to her lair. She would receive neither help nor hindrance from the rest of the pack. The three would fit into the pack based on merit. The three shared a common mother, but different fathers. The boy, an albino, was the child of a northern cloud dweller, implanted secretly in a dream with purpose known only to him. The two girls, twins, but not identical, where conceived by more conventional means. The two girl's father lived, as he always had, at the foot of the mountain, which unbeknownst to him enclosed a meadow of great curiosity. But, curiosity was not a trait he had in abundance. There were droplets that came from the mountain, some from inside and some from outside, flowing in a waterfall that joined a stream flowing peacefully by his house. He was ordinary and attentive to ordinary things. He was not a part of the story.
His wife and two daughters were lost to the hunger of the Rapturnal, a large birdlike creature not noted for eating humans, but occasionally driven to do so by hunger. That was the story as best the father knew, and he would never know any different. The baby daughters, as we have discovered, survived.
(I have to pause now and take a pip. I'd poop, but I didn't have enough to eat. Now, were I dead than I would be paping. However, I would lack the ability to smell my own pap. Others would, however, if they were so inclined. Little people pop, no matter the quantity of food intake. It's a matter of physics. But, for insurance purposes they are required to go in bodies of water or if none are available an enclosed litter box.)
There are over forty ways to eat a hot dog. Yes, that includes false teeth, your local convenience store's manager and his taught butt cheeks.
I applied for a job at the convenience store down the street. I haven't heard back yet. So, for now, this is the end. One never knows, if get the job and work hard, I could be manager someday. There may be a sequel.
The blood moons were dry and they were not many. So, with a smile and some good-natured snickering, I mocked them loudly. The neighbors having lost their dictionary and with no developed drawing skills or desire for parlor games informed me of my undesirability as someone they wished to have in their proximity on a continuing basis. Their attention warmed, what I assumed, were the cockles of my heart. I pause, to admit a lack of knowledge concerning cardiac structure, and you have caught me throwing technical jargon around to impress you. I'm guessing that "cockles" have some form of heat conducting capacity. In any case, something warmed my heart, either the attention or the vodka and I was moved. (Swaying, a motion that, I believe, falls under the definition of movement.)
Well, I went home and closed my door. I relied heavily on the rudimentary intelligence of my spine.
I see that a couple of you remain. You must understand my late nights without her. The desperate urge to fill my mind with anything that is not her. But, everything is her, isn't it?
So then, off into space I go, contemplating star powered celestial vineyards. Hydroponics has proven to be a success. Those on Earth, the ones that considered my way of doing things folly, have their ordinary conventions to ponder. They have their collection of boxes, square and uninteresting. Oh yes, I include you, the strutting rectangular few, with your "special echoes" that baffle the symmetry, many whose alphabet lacks an "A".
Mr. Rhombus is beside himself today, the rent is due and he just can't make ends meet. I back up towards the vanishing point, for I prefer my perspective to reality.
No one gets it and I don't get the girl. What would you have me do? Make sense? Or, should I say, make sense.
I asked several people
if they had change
for a penny
I asked a bitter bonded bounty hunter
I asked a pernicious post-teen paperboy
I asked a persnickety purse-snatching slacker
a little boy with starfish eyes
made the exchange
we are both more than we once were
A break in solitude can be a desired thing, especially if it was of a temporary nature. Winter would pass in due course, and the infants would be welcomed by the sisters at the convent. But, this was a winter he would never escape. His death was uneventful and quiet and it would be some time before he was missed, not that he wasn't well thought of. He was. It was a simple matter of no one expecting him to show up anywhere.
The wolves came later that day in response to the change in scent. Winter had been difficult for them as well, and the possibility of a meal, even a poor quality one, was compelling. For Laserta, the matriarch of the pack, the sound of babies tickled some urge deep within her.
Though hungry, something in the purity of a child's yearning quelled her own appetite. Skylook, the dominant male, did not share those feelings with Laserta. He thought only of one thing, food. However, there would be no contesting Laserta in this matter. Skylook, having not the luxury of choice, would settle for the ample, but not delicious, meal the friar would make.
Laserta gathered up the three human babies and brought them to her lair. She would receive neither help nor hindrance from the rest of the pack. The three would fit into the pack based on merit. The three shared a common mother, but different fathers. The boy, an albino, was the child of a northern cloud dweller, implanted secretly in a dream with purpose known only to him. The two girls, twins, but not identical, where conceived by more conventional means. The two girl's father lived, as he always had, at the foot of the mountain, which unbeknownst to him enclosed a meadow of great curiosity. But, curiosity was not a trait he had in abundance. There were droplets that came from the mountain, some from inside and some from outside, flowing in a waterfall that joined a stream flowing peacefully by his house. He was ordinary and attentive to ordinary things. He was not a part of the story.
His wife and two daughters were lost to the hunger of the Rapturnal, a large birdlike creature not noted for eating humans, but occasionally driven to do so by hunger. That was the story as best the father knew, and he would never know any different. The baby daughters, as we have discovered, survived.
(I have to pause now and take a pip. I'd poop, but I didn't have enough to eat. Now, were I dead than I would be paping. However, I would lack the ability to smell my own pap. Others would, however, if they were so inclined. Little people pop, no matter the quantity of food intake. It's a matter of physics. But, for insurance purposes they are required to go in bodies of water or if none are available an enclosed litter box.)
There are over forty ways to eat a hot dog. Yes, that includes false teeth, your local convenience store's manager and his taught butt cheeks.
I applied for a job at the convenience store down the street. I haven't heard back yet. So, for now, this is the end. One never knows, if get the job and work hard, I could be manager someday. There may be a sequel.
The blood moons were dry and they were not many. So, with a smile and some good-natured snickering, I mocked them loudly. The neighbors having lost their dictionary and with no developed drawing skills or desire for parlor games informed me of my undesirability as someone they wished to have in their proximity on a continuing basis. Their attention warmed, what I assumed, were the cockles of my heart. I pause, to admit a lack of knowledge concerning cardiac structure, and you have caught me throwing technical jargon around to impress you. I'm guessing that "cockles" have some form of heat conducting capacity. In any case, something warmed my heart, either the attention or the vodka and I was moved. (Swaying, a motion that, I believe, falls under the definition of movement.)
Well, I went home and closed my door. I relied heavily on the rudimentary intelligence of my spine.
I see that a couple of you remain. You must understand my late nights without her. The desperate urge to fill my mind with anything that is not her. But, everything is her, isn't it?
So then, off into space I go, contemplating star powered celestial vineyards. Hydroponics has proven to be a success. Those on Earth, the ones that considered my way of doing things folly, have their ordinary conventions to ponder. They have their collection of boxes, square and uninteresting. Oh yes, I include you, the strutting rectangular few, with your "special echoes" that baffle the symmetry, many whose alphabet lacks an "A".
Mr. Rhombus is beside himself today, the rent is due and he just can't make ends meet. I back up towards the vanishing point, for I prefer my perspective to reality.
No one gets it and I don't get the girl. What would you have me do? Make sense? Or, should I say, make sense.
I asked several people
if they had change
for a penny
I asked a bitter bonded bounty hunter
I asked a pernicious post-teen paperboy
I asked a persnickety purse-snatching slacker
a little boy with starfish eyes
made the exchange
we are both more than we once were
This is not for everybody and may not be for anybody. But, it is for me. Feel free to...cue music...Walk on by..y..y..y.
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