Monday, March 26, 2007

Fire pits

M (also known as Dr. T, upon whose name the heavens dance) sits regal at the window.

It is a marvelous spring day outside the double glaze, as the blossoms set sail on the sunny breeze across the parking lot. From the corner of his eye, he looks at Ia, now gorging herself silly with the crunchy delights from the red earthen cornucopia.

He looks out again, away from Ia, this time beyond the blossoms and the mustard flowers onto the grassy hills east.

M: "You know that's not good for you"

Ia: chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp gulp chomp chomp chew chomp crackle chomp chomp gulp chomp chomp

M: "The tall one poisons us slowly with that sinful food. He wishes we eat, so he can watch us slide down agonizing deaths."

Ia: chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp gulp

M: "To each, her own."

Ia: bbllaaaaaccchhhhhrrrrtchrrrkkkk.....

M: "I must say you are smarter than I give you credit for. You've saved yourself from a slow and painful death. This brown puke you just threw up on the carpet should get you killed by the tall one in no time."

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Reverse Split

Insignificant Aide (Ia, curses unto her and her wretched lot) has given up all worldly desires for the day. "Take all you wish, if it makes you happy." False accusations slide off her back, like Grey rain on a dark crow. She knows the hour will come when all will be leveled.

For now, all she wants is to lift herself out of this claustrophobic crevice into which the retarded M (Also known as Dr. T, a million praises be unto him) pushed her. And little does she care that he fell in himself.

The beautiful one calls from beyond the land of darkness. Her wispy voice, ethereal, lithe, glides down the darkness, bringing hope to Ia. The beautiful one is come. She brings light, hope and a chance of rescue. Ia is saved.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Collect Call

M (also known as Dr. T, a thousand praises unto him) grunts a low guttural in his sleep. As he sweats in the dark heat, he curses the unseen enemy. He does not dare open the window, though the sweet fragrance of death tempts. The reaper will have to wait.

M scratches himself behind the ear, and sinks back into sleep.