Soutwest metropolis morality tale #1
Once upon a sunny southwest metropolis time, a girl named Seether was shuffling through her sun-dripping neighborhood, her imaginary tale twitching and her imaginary pointed ears quivering to the imaginary static she so easily perceived buzzing through the early-morning but nevertheless humid air.
As she often did on her morning forays, Seether was on the lookout for hypocrites, analytic philosophers, and other threats to civilization as she imagined it.
"Snark," she seethed. "Rat licker. Pig bottom," she snarled as she rounded a corner, humming to the hum in her head, a ripple cascading down her imaginarily fur-lined back.
Suddenly, a thin, wheezy voice penetrated her concentration: "... and she said 4856, but there is no 4856..."
Seether stopped in her imaginary four-pawed tracks, seeing a short, white haired old lady standing on the corner looking up and down the street, then imploringly at Seether.
"Ack. Brain numb-er," Seether spit out, but the old lady approached, coming so close that Seether saw her whiskers, and a bright dot of coral lipstick smeared on her upper left lip.
"... and I took the bus, but there is no 4856."
"What," Seether asked, titling her head so as to better filter the static now bristling all about, "are you looking for?"
The old lady, peering out through her little old lady eyes, wheezed, "The hair dresser's." Her frizzled hair frizzled.
Twitching her tail, had it been there, Seether turned, pointed, and said, "The green awning... there," the mention of which caused the little old lady to blink, blink again, and start off in the direction of the now apparent, flourescently glowing "OPEN" sign.
"Have," Seether cautiously offered, "a good day."
"... and it has been such a bad one already," the little old lady replied, seething a bit herself.
"It can only," Seether said, "thus," Seether spun, "get better." And off Seether sprinted, thinking that the old lady was not the sort to spout mind-numbing drivel parading as wonderment at best and linguistic slight-of-hand at worst; nor did she seem a hypocrite, with her early morning appointment and that spot of color on her lip.
The End
And the moral of the story from the Dickinsonian oracle:
A Thought went up my mind today -
That I have had before -
But did not finish - some way back -
I could not fix the Year -
Nor Where it went - nor why it came
The second time to me -
Nor definitely, what it was -
Have I the Art to say -
But somewhere - in my soul - I know -
I've met the Thing before -
It just reminded me - 'twas all -
And came my way no more -
(E. Dickinson, 731)
As she often did on her morning forays, Seether was on the lookout for hypocrites, analytic philosophers, and other threats to civilization as she imagined it.
"Snark," she seethed. "Rat licker. Pig bottom," she snarled as she rounded a corner, humming to the hum in her head, a ripple cascading down her imaginarily fur-lined back.
Suddenly, a thin, wheezy voice penetrated her concentration: "... and she said 4856, but there is no 4856..."
Seether stopped in her imaginary four-pawed tracks, seeing a short, white haired old lady standing on the corner looking up and down the street, then imploringly at Seether.
"Ack. Brain numb-er," Seether spit out, but the old lady approached, coming so close that Seether saw her whiskers, and a bright dot of coral lipstick smeared on her upper left lip.
"... and I took the bus, but there is no 4856."
"What," Seether asked, titling her head so as to better filter the static now bristling all about, "are you looking for?"
The old lady, peering out through her little old lady eyes, wheezed, "The hair dresser's." Her frizzled hair frizzled.
Twitching her tail, had it been there, Seether turned, pointed, and said, "The green awning... there," the mention of which caused the little old lady to blink, blink again, and start off in the direction of the now apparent, flourescently glowing "OPEN" sign.
"Have," Seether cautiously offered, "a good day."
"... and it has been such a bad one already," the little old lady replied, seething a bit herself.
"It can only," Seether said, "thus," Seether spun, "get better." And off Seether sprinted, thinking that the old lady was not the sort to spout mind-numbing drivel parading as wonderment at best and linguistic slight-of-hand at worst; nor did she seem a hypocrite, with her early morning appointment and that spot of color on her lip.
The End
And the moral of the story from the Dickinsonian oracle:
A Thought went up my mind today -
That I have had before -
But did not finish - some way back -
I could not fix the Year -
Nor Where it went - nor why it came
The second time to me -
Nor definitely, what it was -
Have I the Art to say -
But somewhere - in my soul - I know -
I've met the Thing before -
It just reminded me - 'twas all -
And came my way no more -
(E. Dickinson, 731)
posted by Jennifer at 9:08 AM
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