Aberrant

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There are crooked teeth and, further along the plane; a blue vein (poppingpoppingpopping),
a pulsating blue vein!
a tick, tick, tick-
TOCK! of an eye.
I am the nervousness of your system;
the errant winky face (you didn’t mean to hit SEND!);
the blush you couldn’t prevent from
it’s beetle crrrawl up your neck;
the fall that sent your papers scattering;
a trickle, a stream, a waterfall!
of sweat on your palms.
I am there and I am here.
I am me and I am you.
I am everyone.

I wrote a thing and it occurred to me I might try reading that thing aloud, because I feared I couldn’t accurately convey how it was to be read through grammar alone.

I think there is value in having the reader take what they will from your writing though, so go ahead and skip over the audio if you want to.

 

Things Observed

Observation one:

It is not a good idea to press the buttons on a toaster with wet hands.

Observation number two:

“Look, man, I’m telling you just leave her,” a man says into his mobile. He rubs his hand across his forehead. “You’ve got to just get out of that situation.”

He pauses and I can hear the faint whine of another voice through the phone. His friend? His brother? Maybe it’s his boyfriend.

“Go and stay with Karla,” he is saying. This advice is followed by more muffled noise. I wonder who Karla is.

“Well, what’s going to change then?” He is shouting now, gesturing wildly around him. “She’s just gonna keep using you.”

The train pulls into my station. I stand and make my way to the doors. Usually when people complain about relationships, they just want someone to listen. As I step off I hear the phone-guy sighing. He must have figured it out.

Observation number three:

I stand at the counter; Olivia balanced on one hip with her arms wrapped around my neck. She smiles, showing off a dimple. The aroma of coffee is tantalising.

“Will there be marshmallows?” Olivia asks. I nod.

“Will it have chocolate?” she asks the woman making the drinks.

“Yes,” she answers her, smiling.

“Thank you,” Olivia says. The conversation done, I lower her to the floor to stand next to me.

A woman with white hair pulled into a bun gestures her dark, wrinkled hands toward Olivia who, shyly, grabs my hand. The woman catches my eye and smiles.

“Isn’t she cute?” The blonde sitting next to her says.

“She is, she is cute,” another agrees.

I smile back. Then, turning, I tune back into Olivia; she’s happily chatting about the curved, silver fan above us. It is, apparently, a magic fan.