Without permission to use the fourth letter of the alphabet.
Through Blogging 101, 6/23/15’s assignment is to partake in a blogging event. After scrolling, I chose this. I recall Ritu partook in something like this a couple months back. I thought, “this looks fun but challenging, but I am intelligent so I will triumph.”
Small step by small step, I am finally in my room. I angrily grope my wall for the light switch, but it is unnecessary … now. The THUMPING echo against my ears on the carpet, I hear a basketball quietly bouncing to the hall. I weep in the black, striking my floor then my foot.
I feel the warm 11am sunlight on my arm, with growling hunger emanating from my skin, I crawl to the pane leaving larger spaces between the wet ones on the carpet. I smack my face against the pane, my pores sucking up the heat like a youngster sucking root beer through a crazy straw. My fingertips stuck to it like strong magnets.
Gravity pulls my fingers onto the sill. Something fell to the floor that-a-way. I feel terrible about my neglect, letting nature keep it company. I crawl on the floor again to search for that rectangular piece of hot plastic with a spaghetti trail. Cool, small, smooth rectangle, nope. Cool, small, smooth rectangle, nope. Cool, small, smooth rectangle, nope. I will never ask for another Lego set ever again.
A-HA! I turn it upright, put my ear homies in, the sunshine for my ears began. I lie flat like a sunbathing starfish. After a song, I was on the floor for another mission: Chloe in my closet. Five minutes later, it was like the authorities were in my room to get proof to charge me with a felony.
Chloe is under my rotting rags in the corner. Another crawling journey with plenty of obstacles without my expectation. As I get near, nausea instantly hit me, pushing up my throat. There is not enough fragrant bubbly-wubblies on the Earth to get the funk out of these clothes. My nose suspects this pile of victim has been here for a year.
Unearthing the grave, Chloe is in the corner. I gently took her out of her, I think, black case. My fingertips caress the steel – these cool, long strings. My palm slaps her timber tramp stamp. I kneel to embrace her against my frail physique, hoping that she forgives me. I play her without her boy-toy, Beau, plucking away to feel the vibrations, strong at first then weak as she recovers. She takes another breath, then another, then another, letting everyone hear her exclamation.