It’s the quiet ones that kill.
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018
For example, I changed ‘Trypophobia’ to ‘Metrophobia’ in all of our medical records. Oh! Sometimes I can even surprise myself! By the way, it’s of no use trying to convince someone that a fear of subways isn’t ‘Metrophobia’… I personally just prefer taking the shortest routes. I grab such unconvinced ignoramuses by their collars and invite them to take a little ride on the roof of the carriage with me so I can teach them what a TRUE fear of subways is! And I’m glad to have such opportune days. But days when I meet with people who truly know what ‘Metrophobia’ means… I’m not so glad… I’m happy!
What can be better than killing accompanying poetry? It’s an elusive sensitivity… a vivid and exciting feeling! They hope to make me weaker… they are perplexed… they cannot understand why I mock. I have heard plenty of poems… by many poets… in various languages… Some poems I bestow the stubborn ears of know-it-all jackasses, to listen to until the end of the line. Some poems I snub abruptly, cutting them down in the middle of their first lines. Anyway, nothing could change the final act of these little poetic theater performances. But one day, I thought I would have another happy ending’s poetic justice when something unexpected happened.
He was declaiming ‘The Word’ by Gumilev. He had an ill-affecting accent. My wall of defense fell. I wasn’t able to kill it with my fiery brand of poetry… I have burned out his memory. I gave him a fiery brand new name. I created him anew from scratch. My forum of conscience…
My Chilperic. (to be continued)
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014
My special thanks to Cyan Ryan
for grammar corrections and improvement this essay!