Repository for my Zanier Ideas... on writing, and life. |
(Also edited and posted as a story, right or wrongly. Blog commenting even heckling is appreciated.) I saw a pink flamingo, on the lawn. I groaned. This was my lawn, not theirs. "Who put that there?" I got out my baseball bat, and walked toward the door. The door bounced against the hinges and the bird flew away. "A real flamingo?" I dropped the bat, glared at the thing. It rolled off the porch. "Stupid bat," I said, as if somehow, the bat had caused my aggressive mood. As if it was the bat that caused me to waste the joy of such a strange encounter. I picked it up and put it in it's place, where it would wait for my next violent urge. "I hope that one is at least appropriate." I saw my neighbor riding his bike past me He pedaled on as if I were harmless. As if I had not just tried to fly into a rage. As if I did not lovingly, almost lovingly, place a baseball bat beside my door in preparation for the people around me. I ran my fingers through my hair. "What am I doing? How did I get here?" My cat Caleb walked up to me. I avoid looking in the mirror as I pick him up and stroke him, feeling very much like a balding, middle aged cartoon. His purr soothes me, and I find the courage to look in the mirror. I am that cartoon, and I recoil at what I see, but it's not visible. I should say, I resemble that cartoon. I am the very subject of it. But I am also flesh and bone in three dimensions. Three dimensions that I can see. There may be more. "You don't mind that I'm an idiot and a clown, do you Caleb?" Caleb purrs and rubs my face. |