Category: Delusions

Female Trouble

She was leaking.  Again.  It seemed only to happen in public.  At home it was never a problem.  She could sit for hours reading or working out mathematical equations.  Even when staring at the clouds or stars and theorizing, there was no seepage.

But out shopping, at tea, in a ballroom and especially at the subscription library, she had only to open her mouth and the trickle, then torrent, of her words, opinions and knowledge flooded the air.

Her intelligence on hideous display and before she could ratchet her jaw shut, the whispers began all round.

“Bluestocking.”

Image: Portrait of MME De Graffigny by Pierre Mignard via flickr commons

1816

It would be the fight of his life.  A duel but not over a woman or an accusation of cheating at cards or even because some Pink of the Ton had cast aspersions upon the arrangement of his cravat.  No, it was far more serious.  The control of his fortune, his title, his estate, his very future was at stake.  And he had no choice of weapons, was unarmed, unmanned, with only his twelve year old brother as his second.  But he must face the challenge.

Bile rose in his throat as he turned to confront his opponent.

“Hello, Mother.”

Embellishment for Haiku

Image:  Portrait of a Young Gentleman via flickr commons

Many Questions

“Should those plants be touching?”

“What?”

“Should those two plants be touching each other?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No! Should they be touching? Their leaves are mingling.”

“ Why are you concerned about that?”

“It doesn’t seem right. Is it healthy?”

“Are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems bizarre to be concerned about the mingling of leaves. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just wondered if its okay for those leaves to mingle.”

<silence>

“Why are you so dismissive of my concerns?”

“Fine. Sorry.  It is okay for those plants to touch. Better?”

 

“Yes, thank you . . . what about those two plants?”

 

Image by Robin Anderson

Brain Fog

Have you ever driven on a foggy morning?  Diffuse grey light wraps around trees, utility poles and buildings.  No hard edges to alert you.  Are you traveling fast? Or slowly?  Time is compressed, attenuated or smoothed out.  Your brain eventually tricks you into seeing black and white dots swimming in the fuzzy air.

Pandemic is like that.  Time becomes flat and we are all dots floating in space.  Getting nowhere fast.  Or slowly.

Image by Jason Strull via Unsplash.com

RITUAL?

Quintuplet Cluster, NASA on the Commons

Up, down, up, down, updown.

The weird choreography of gnats in the late winter sunlight, rising in unison from the incense cedar and bouncing in the chilly, bright air.  A constellation of illuminated bioplasm.  Is it a communal mating ritual?  An invitation to passing birds to come, feast?  A celebration of approaching seasonal change?  All of that? None?

Faster and faster, the frenzied dance brings their tiny grey bodies together, until they are a single whirling orb of gossamer fluff.

Bang!

They resettle, simultaneously, into the cedar.  The sun shines, the breeze stirs.

And then again, up, down, up, down.

Image by NASA via flickr.com/commons
“Quintuplet Cluster”

FERAL

She had always shared her life with cats and dogs.  Still, the transformation was a shock.  First came the growth of an undercoat on her scalp.  Next, her fingernails hardened and curved.  When her arms and legs grew excessively hairy, she covered them.  When she could no longer grasp her coffee mug, she dashed it against the kitchen wall.  After several decades of vegetarianism, she craved, then ate, meat. Raw.

On the last morning, she stripped off her nightgown, running out the back door on all fours.  She vaulted the fence.  The pets would have to fend for themselves.

Embellishment for HaikuEmbellishment for Haiku

Image by Martin Arusala via Unsplash.com

Mujagui, Egg Ghost

When the girl found me, I carried no traces of humanity.   Unremembered, I became smooth as an egg.  Seeing me should have killed her. Though blind, she could hear my stories.  As she listened, my limbs and features reappeared.

I kissed her eyelids and dissolved, tethered to Earth no more.

 

Story appeared in 5oWord Stories

photo by Enache Georgiana unsplash

DNA

He was scrupulously unsuperstitious, but the smell gave him away, acrid brain curling reek.

I followed him to the bathroom. Startled, Grandpa dropped burning paper into the toilet.

“Ssh. Tell no one. The witch will know.”

After he died, I continued his tradition.

Burn all clippings, hair to toe nails.

Becky Kjelstrom