By Katy
Good morning/afternoon/next day/three days after post everyone! This is going to be a switch up edition. As many of you know, my entire life is falling apart, so I don't feel it's appropriate at this juncture in my week to dispense advice, but I don't want to leave you lonely on this pre-four-twenty Sunday. Thus, please enjoy some personal prose:
Good morning/afternoon/next day/three days after post everyone! This is going to be a switch up edition. As many of you know, my entire life is falling apart, so I don't feel it's appropriate at this juncture in my week to dispense advice, but I don't want to leave you lonely on this pre-four-twenty Sunday. Thus, please enjoy some personal prose:
And Then It Was Gone: A Love Story
In the middle of a boring town, on a boring block, lived a boring and listless girl. Her name was Eliza. Eliza had dolls and a tea set and a strong aversion to empty fantasy, so with her dolls and her tea set she did not play. She had books and encyclopedias and fundamental Christian parents, so with knowledge she did not learn. Her room was filled with paints and with paper, brushes and crayons, with chalk and with canvas, but her head was void of invention and lacked conception, so with art she did not create.
Eliza sat.
For days she would sit under the apple tree in her yard and watch the squirrels scurry about and listen to the neighborhood dogs growl. When ants crawled around her she'd stomp them. When birds landed above her she'd scream at them. When neighborhood children laughed, she'd cry for them. Then she'd laugh because she knew she was only crying for herself. She was really fucking boring. And a little strange.
In hopes of providing their daughter with some wholesome entertainment, Eliza's parents bought her a kitten. A little black kitten with big green eyes that encompassed all the emotion in the world Eliza didn't understand.
They quickly became the best of friends.
For days they would sit under the apple tree in her yard and ignore the squirrels and neighborhood dogs and Eliza would shower the kitten with affection. The kitten would swat at the ants and hiss at the birds that landed above them. When they heard children laugh they would look at each other in silent understanding; knowing their bond transcended their loneliness.
Eliza would have tea parties with the kitten and paint the kitten pictures. She read her books aloud to the kitten and together they would learn about the world. About loss. About joy. About despair. About hope.
One day, Eliza went outside with a bucket full of water to give the kitten a bath. She shampooed and she massaged and cleaned the kitten up. She rinsed and repeated. She chuckled at how the hair clung to the kitten's body. She sang with the birds and greeted each ant. She scoffed at the ignorant laughter of neighborhood children and growled back at the neighborhood dogs. She smiled at the warm sun and felt the breeze on her face. She forgot her loneliness and abandoned her sadness and felt perfect and free. She embraced the idea of the fantastical and marveled at nature's pulchritude. (She noted to look up "pulchritude" in one of her dictionaries). Her eyes became damp as joy rushed through her.
Moments later, remembering, she pulled the lifeless kitten from the bucket.
-The End-
In the middle of a boring town, on a boring block, lived a boring and listless girl. Her name was Eliza. Eliza had dolls and a tea set and a strong aversion to empty fantasy, so with her dolls and her tea set she did not play. She had books and encyclopedias and fundamental Christian parents, so with knowledge she did not learn. Her room was filled with paints and with paper, brushes and crayons, with chalk and with canvas, but her head was void of invention and lacked conception, so with art she did not create.
Eliza sat.
For days she would sit under the apple tree in her yard and watch the squirrels scurry about and listen to the neighborhood dogs growl. When ants crawled around her she'd stomp them. When birds landed above her she'd scream at them. When neighborhood children laughed, she'd cry for them. Then she'd laugh because she knew she was only crying for herself. She was really fucking boring. And a little strange.
In hopes of providing their daughter with some wholesome entertainment, Eliza's parents bought her a kitten. A little black kitten with big green eyes that encompassed all the emotion in the world Eliza didn't understand.
They quickly became the best of friends.
For days they would sit under the apple tree in her yard and ignore the squirrels and neighborhood dogs and Eliza would shower the kitten with affection. The kitten would swat at the ants and hiss at the birds that landed above them. When they heard children laugh they would look at each other in silent understanding; knowing their bond transcended their loneliness.
Eliza would have tea parties with the kitten and paint the kitten pictures. She read her books aloud to the kitten and together they would learn about the world. About loss. About joy. About despair. About hope.
One day, Eliza went outside with a bucket full of water to give the kitten a bath. She shampooed and she massaged and cleaned the kitten up. She rinsed and repeated. She chuckled at how the hair clung to the kitten's body. She sang with the birds and greeted each ant. She scoffed at the ignorant laughter of neighborhood children and growled back at the neighborhood dogs. She smiled at the warm sun and felt the breeze on her face. She forgot her loneliness and abandoned her sadness and felt perfect and free. She embraced the idea of the fantastical and marveled at nature's pulchritude. (She noted to look up "pulchritude" in one of her dictionaries). Her eyes became damp as joy rushed through her.
Moments later, remembering, she pulled the lifeless kitten from the bucket.
-The End-
