Sleeplessness and Butchered Shakespeare. Or. Sorrow.

In Uncategorized on August 31, 2009 at 9:58 am

She is called into a place she recognizes; it was a dark there before, nurturing. The comfort called her, and she was torn. Not knowing what to do she slid down the wall and rested her temple on one of her knees and fiddled with her toes, staring at that black embrace. Anxious and timid. Maybe she’ll just stare at her awkward pinky toes for a while. She knows them well, at least.

A cheerful, bald elderly man hunched his already hunched back and whispered, “Arentchya gonna try it in there? Seems like it’s whatchya need little one. Now gimme a smile”

To which the little one smiled back, secretly embarrassed that her undies might be exposed, and whispered through a cupped hand, “Ya know, you might be right, Pops. What’s one brick when you’ve got a million more?”

And she popped up, and as she bowed, uttered in a very small, yet feigning dignified voice, “Come unto these black sands, And then take hands: Courtsied when you have, and kiss’d…”
Raising at the last second, and peaking with one green eye to the sky “The wild nights whist.”

She skipped through the door. Cozy, empathetic darkness.


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