NetNews Usenet Archive 1992 #27/NN_1992_27.iso/spool/talk/bizarre/38541

Internet Message Format | 1992-11-18 | 3.8 KB

Path: sparky!uunet!canetoad!annie
From: [e-mail] (Annie)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: canetoad's attempt at "Imitation is the best form of flattery"
Distribution: world
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Date: 17 Nov 92 22:55:34 EDT
Organization: The Satellite of Love
Lines: 76

"You know how this works."

From a story found in alt.prose.

The Darkness


    He thought of the sadness that he knew existed deep within
her. (If only she'd opted for the operation.) A pain barely contained,
pacing like a caged (lemur) animal; backward and foreword, backward and
foreword, waiting for (Godot) her guard to fall. Sometimes when
she was tired it would throw itself at her and she would have
to beat it back into submission. He had seen it in her eyes on several
occasions, (What is the true name of eye gunk anyway?) that intense,
far away look. It was like seeing a lover naked in the (gas station)
daylight for the first time, he had turned away when their eyes had met,
not wanting to embarrass her with his (inability to pump gas) interest. Once
his curiosity got the better of him and he questioned her about the source
of her pain.

    ("(It's right here!") "Sometimes I feel my mortality", she said,
sad eyes falling to the floor, (PLOP!) "Part of me is always aware of the
futility of living. (My ovaries, I think) It is a voice constantly asking:
(Didn't I just do this last month???) why go on living? ...
what is the point? ..."

    He took one of her frail hands in his own and (broke it) kissed it
with nervous lips. (Crunch) His shallow breath told him that this was
(much too high an altitude for him to be at) important, this could be a
turning point in their relationship. It sounded like someone else's
(tinny, thin-air) voice asking her did she want to talk about it.

     "It's not that I wont talk about it - I just can't", ("I can
hardly *breathe up here) her head shook and her (broken) hands (clattered)
trembled, "I can't even acknowledge its existence to myself ... (gasp) If
I do I give it purchase ...(wheeze) it could take over ...(puff)
and lead me ... (huff) down into ... into ... " (As she passed out, at
last)

    ("The Valley.") The darkness. He finished her sentence to himself
as he tookher stricken (comatose) shell into his arms.

    Looking back on it he felt he should have said ("I'll pay for
the operation. Really I will.") "I understand, I have seen it too" as
he stroked her head, but she was lost to him and he to her. (And the
plot to everyone.)

(Blah Blah Blah)
the centre of his being. His inverted vision enabled him to see all his
thoughts and memories (and sinuses) as if he was floating over them. Below
him lay all that he had experienced in his life (above him only sky) the
sum of which (couldn't even equal his meager bank account) made up his self.
Each of these experiences, or (mistakes) moments as he thought of them, was
contained in a roofless room (well padded, with heavy locks on all the doors)
and all rooms were connected by long corridors through which (burly orderlies)
his thoughts roamed.

(Blah Blah Blah)

    Dragging himself back (from the edge of the high cliff) he
thought this must be what binds us two together. This worm hole in space,
this lonely blackness (this 1992 fiscal deficit) joins us as securely as
(equities and interest rates) mother and child and as intimately as
(Boskey and Milkin) any woman and man. He licks his lips in order to
(whistle Ave Maria) articulate some of these feelings to her. He turns to
be closer to her. He places a kiss on her (cold) soft (dead) sleeping brow
and whispers ("I lied. I never would have paid for the operation. And I'm
taking your wallet and shoes.") "I love you".



--
Annie, Larne, Grendel

...uunet!canetoad!annie                          canetoad![e-mail]