Well.
That
one
had
me
squir
ming.
Some
one
should
light a
candle.
Where
are we?
Where
we are
is in the
belly of a
magnificent
beast. “Oh, it’s
all in your head,”
said Fred, unaware
that he, himself, had
been stuck there, alone,
for nearly a decade now.
“Where is everybody”?
His words seem drunk
enly sluggish and slurred.
By now, he’s quite dis
turbed. Thus go his
days, his nights,
his unfortunate
plight. He
wanders
the city
all but
unnoticed,
hasn’t locked
eyes with any
but the unreal,
as if he’d even
know the difference
between himself and
the surreality into
which he’s trapped
himself, but snugly
now—this night
marish dark and
dusty world that
tilts eternally at
some sort of dusk.
He stops in his
tracks, but
for a moment,
thinks of a kid
entangled,
writhing and
working up a
sweat in an
effort to
escape
what
ever
has
imp
riso
ned
him.
The
boy,
him
self?
But if
he is or
was this
man will
never know;
this unintended
performance will
see yet another
tomorrow. But
if he doesn’t
know? Who’s
to speculate
upon such
woe? Or
even if
woe
it is.
Who
would
know?
Let
him
be.
