What’s the Buzz

The day had turned out to be really nice. It was late March, or early April, I don’t remember. Who cares about calendars when the sun warms your belly so pleasantly?

I stretched and yawned. I happily glided between wakefulness and slumber. Maja’s winglets shone and lured me. And I could swear they were buzzing with a rendition of ‘Sweet Painted Lady’. I was lulled and aroused… It was getting hot, so I took cover under the leaves.

I don’t know how long I was drowsing, but I woke up because of human yells. I sighed. There’s nothing they enjoy better than making noise and mess. And they call us a plague, don’t they?

The yelling got closer and louder. The ground quaked, the bush shook. Drunk guffaws and ribaldry ripped this calm day in two like a butcher’s knife, beat the bejesus out of it. Someone brayed, ‘Jujube! Regale the King with sweet savories!’ The crowd ululated and rushed to the bush. Holy Royal Hexapods! What were they going to do?!

It smelled of trouble, and I decided it was high time to bug out of this unfortunate plant. I made to leap off and… nothing happened. Reprobate Polyphagas! What the hell? I had a shot at jumping a few times in a row but it was in vain. The sun which had caressed me so pleasantly had also played a low-down trick on me. My back leg had tightly glued to a drop of melted resin. I made the only decision I could. I huddled under a leaf, sat tight and didn’t move. All I could do was to wait out this mayhem.

I have indistinct memories of what happened next. There was a snapping of the bush then someone bending a bagel shape out of twigs. I was like a poppy seed on its surface. There were cries of ‘Must die!’ and ‘Hosanna!’ A cacophony of voices, laughing and crying… the thick smell of blood. The smell drove me crazy. I was twitching like an epileptic and trying to escape this crowned trap. We’re not freaking grigs. We don’t enjoy the stench of flesh. I can’t bear this smell. I just can’t. Desperately, I sank my jaws into my stifled joint…

It grew dark. I hobbled slowly. At least I’d escaped with my life and other limbs intact. After all, it was only a leg. I had another five. And wings! That poor guy now dangling from a cross was definitely having a much worse day than I. Damn. I have wings! Why not just go? I took to the air and laid a course for Horeb. Everybody knows that the best nymphet stews are there, and I really need some rest now.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2017

Teti-à-Tête (With Tony) #6

crumble-cult-210

Tati as TATI

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Tony as TONY

 

ACT 5 SCENE 3
THROUGH THE LOOKING HOLE

 

Set in the lounge room of a cosy three-storey tree house in an unspecified fantasy location.

TATI is sitting in a comfortable armchair. She is reading a book entitled ‘Unicorn Farts: How the Rainbow was Born’ with a serious face.

TONY wanders in, wearing a sandwich board advertising something called ‘Hole-in-the-Wall’. He turns to the reader (that’s you) and bellows…

TONY: You! Hey you! Yeah, reader! This is a hardcore sales pitch!

TATI: What the hell?

TONY: Buy our stuff! Buy it now! Buy it or die! (Well, everyone dies. Eventually.)

TATI: Tony…

TONY: Just goddamn BUY our stuff so we can get filthy stinking rich and avoid paying taxes like the top one percent! Yeah. Just… YEAH.

TATI: Tony.

TONY: Do it, man! And woman. Plural.

TATI: TONY!

TONY: What?!

TATI: This is shit and you know it. It wouldn’t even hook a dead fish.

TONY: Huh?

TATI: Take off that silly hairpiece, please. You’re not Donald Trump.

TONY: I’m only trying to spruik our new shop page.

TATI: Hole-in-the-Wall isn’t a fly-by-night pyramid selling scheme. It should be presented with dignity.

TONY: Fine. I’ll be boring then. Dear reader, Hole-in-the-Wall is our new shop page. You can find it here on Unbolt Me, and it features our first two eBooks. Eventually, we will have other stuff you can buy as well, but for now please do enjoy our literary offerings.

TATI: Amen.

TONY: Oh, and our books will help you to lose weight. Maybe even get rid of dandruff and carpet stains…

TATI: Tony! Are you an idiot? Do you want to be beaten for your shameless lies?

TONY: Frickin’ women. Can never make ’em happy. Not ever.

THE END

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016

Deuteronomy: something that Moses and Eliot hushed up

A tiny, black Kitten took a leisurely stroll down a drowsy, prestigious street. Kitten didn’t seem lost or panicked. I would even say that Kitten was rather focused, as if looking for something.

Finally, Kitten chose a cute little porch adorned with dried twigs, pumpkins and autumnal blooms, and climbed onto it. Kitten sat a little bit, and then delved into some unsolicited mail which was tossed around, as if to fill the time.

A passing dog stopped to look at Kitten, then it bristled and started to bark. Kitten ignored this while continuing to pore over a leaflet with ads of whistling kettles.

The door opened a crack and from it an annoyed woman’s voice exclaimed, “Boo! Leave it!” Kitten meowed softly. The voice then changed like the wave of a wand. “Oh… kitty kitty! Just look at this poopsie!” A moment later, two hands scooped Kitten up.

Kitten became a real consolation to the old woman. She fussed over Kitten all the days and nights. She doted on Kitten. And… you know how it happens, yes? Their love was like butter of the herd, and milk of the sheep with the fat of lambs. Like the rams of the breed of Basan. And goats with the marrow of wheat. Drink like the purest blood of the grape. Blah, blah, blah…

And it was good.

Could you blame her? Me neither. Let who is without sin be the first to cast a stone. Love is a tricky thing and you should think twice before you scoop up a tiny kitten from your porch. Where lies the boundary between selfless care and careless selfishness? Whom do we love? Ourselves in the object of love, or the object of love in us? Little black kittens, who slept on your pillow, grow up and occupy your bedroom…

A boombox filled the air with the treacly backbeat of a musical. The digestive repose of a feline’s gastronomy must never be broken whate’er may befall.

That huge black Cat with coruscant fur lazily swayed in a rocking chair in front of the fireplace. The tiny grandma snuggled on his lap, snoring softly.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2016