Dance in the Full Moon

O, the Frailty of Memory

Monday, September 10, 2012

9.10

The bug ate through my stomach, you see. That's why I leaked acid on your floor; I really didn't mean to. I would lean down to wipe it up but I think we both know it's for the best if I don't. Sorry.

Oh, that's alright. I don't usually hug. Or wear suits. You know, minor inconveniences.

Oh, I haven't been allowed on public transportation for years. I'm classified as a biological weapon in sixteen states. It's been hard because my mum lives so far away now, but what are you gonna do, you know?

Anyhow, I'll let you finish mopping that up in peace. I can feel a burp coming on so I think I'll make my way on down to the bathroom. Thanks for the lovely party.

3 comments:

  1. Troubling.
    I had an ulcer once. It was terrible.

    I still want more from this universe, though. What sort of bug? How can that possibly be a weapon? Why is the speaker such a mama's boy?

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  2. Everybody misses their momma. Don't lie. The bug can be whatever you want. Centipede? Sure. Preying mantis? Why not praying? Gregor Samsa? Not hard to believe.

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  3. I'm not. I don't. Not anymore.

    Fair enough. Points for Samsa.

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