The graduate strode confidently across the podium, careful to concentrate on her walk, not one misstep in those high heels. She reeked of true elegance, no denying it: a class act, that one.
I began to inflate the cushion. One last breath out, and it was ready to go. The Pranksters Extraordinaire Club would soon sing my praises. I had as good as won the bet to fly around the world. My eye had been on this prize trip for a long time.
Princess smiled at me and sat down. The phony fart blasted loudly. I smiled; she died. Delicious!
Water droplets on the goblet trickled elegantly down the sand-etched Lady Liberty logo. There’s that word again—one spoken so often nowadays. Usually, by the ignorant, trigger happy, ready for the chance to kill something with their guns type people. Everyone else around doing the delicate dance of feeling frightened and acting normal when they meet them up close or see them approaching in the distance. Should we shy away or approach confidently? It’s a feeling of trying to breathe normally while feeling afraid, likely about to die. And why do they always try to make us feel like the loser?
Standing in the center of the shop, I realized that I’d be bankrupt by tomorrow. There was no way to charm myself out of this situation. Everything near and dear to me would be gone. I would need to see the lawyer downtown today. I kept thinking, “What the hell happened to me and my dream?” My eyes began to fill with tears. There was no other option but to file Chapter 11. Touching the lace on my smock, I let out a sigh as I looked around my salon.
I fiddled with my guns while listening to the songs of the workers. The sun made my head throb. I shouldn’t have broken the seal on that 20-year-old cognac last night. Dipping my bandana in the spring water, I could still hear music thumping, or was that my headache? No, it wasn’t either. I cupped my ear to listen better. Then I looked up and realized it was a mob of angry people from the fields charging with their children in tow. Blinking profusely, was this a dream? It was real! They were wide-eyed and mean and coming for me!
“It’s just a regular cold virus. Stop acting as if you have had a stroke!” Sandy said sternly to her roommate, the man-child. She rose to leave for work.
“Now remember to lock the door behind me. I will let your Boo know to call you later, ok? Gotta fly now.”
He’ll be the death of me trying to spread his germs! Sandy muttered to herself as she left for work. So glad I’m single, she thought,donning her mask. It’s good we didn’t sell them all, she thought to herself.
Although the fire was tiny in my dream, the real one was huge. I became a family of one overnight. I mourn the rest, which perished on that fateful evening. I lift my weary eyes, feeling torn –stay here being miserable or join those who burned. I rock in the corner, lurking like a shy intruder, still in shock. The tumbler in the door lock clicks, a nurse enters the room.
“Honey, these stories in your head aren’t the truth!” she says as she empties the syringe into my arm. The light slowly dims as the room fades away.
The roots wrapped around me with tremendous speed; “Yes,” I screamed, “I’m next!” My left and right arms pressed tightly against the tree, its wooden fingers clamping down tight like a valve forcefully shut off. I imagined dying would be a treat compared to the life I’d led. “Fade to black” came to mind as my watch ticked down the time—small spikes wrapped around my arms like a wheel as they dug into me for nourishment. “What a beautiful green seam,” I thought as I lay there, continuing to bleed out as the leaves grew over me like a cover.
The battle against COVID-19 raged on insidiously in the United States of America. “Flatten the curve,” the new mantra now, doesn’t feel useful. I tried every day to intentionally carve out some time to not be so sad about the spread in my area. At home, where I am free from death, it still felt like being a prisoner in the movie “The Platform.” At night, looking up at the moon, I wished we could escape all this death around us.
Oh, the lives lost because of the lies uttered by the orange-tinted excrement in the White House! Damn him!
We were trapped now. The stash of toilet paper I had on hand would get us through for a bit. Eventually, we’d need to venture out, walk amongst others as if in a maze to avoid them. What has this great land become? The social media chatter says everything is a wreck. The last thing heard, “It’s a democratic hoax!” Oh, crawlback from under the rock from which you came! I wish I were armed, and he right in front of me. But instead, I proceeded to saw off my arm, which held my phone: crazy times, crazy measures.
I just want to hug her and touch her sweet face. But I know I have to restrict myself during these times. Being socially responsible right now does indeed count in this woke world; it’s how I can be compassionate. Then I hear of the cult back in my home town still holding mass. How utterly insane they are! They should lock the doors and call it a day, indefinitely or at least until the worst is over. We all need to distance ourselves.
I look down at my hands and realize they are the enemy that I can control.