The star attraction in the farmer’s market. The kids would line up to sit on him. Year on year his home had won the best pasture prize.
But no more.
The times had changed. Everyone wanted pasteurized milk now. Hardly anyone came their way.
It’s just temporary, his farmer had believed. Taking out a big loan he had tried to modernize… it didn’t work. Their future had not been mislaid – it was lost. They had to forfeit the land.
Jowls up, he mooed – time to go from celebrity to history.
He was everybody’s go to person when they needed to let off some steam.
Need to bear your soul, confess a secret, need a shoulder to cry on, or even just need some quiet conversation-less company – go to Ned. He was always there with a quiet smile on his lips.
He was the best keeper of secrets.
Poor Ned was a little dim – and so he was everybody’s trashcan.
Poor Ned was a little dim – and so he was also everybody’s punching bag.
When Ida discovered that she could hear the voices of the dead speaking to her when she tuned into a certain radio station, she decided to immediately book the long pending appointment. There had to be an explanation.
But when the doctor promised her that there was no problem with her cochlear implant, she decided against discussing it with her children. It would only give them an excuse to ship her off to that retirement facility that they had been dropping hints about.
Instead, she waited for her granddaughter’s visit.
“It’s complicated, nanna,” Mia had tried to explain. “They are physically dead, but their mind has been kept alive in AI. No, not a brain transplant, more like a brain mapping. The system studies their every action, opinion, and reaction, and then goes on to speak as them.”
“So no one dies anymore? They just become this AI?” Ida asked.
“Not everyone, nanna. Just the important people like the politicians and world leaders.”
“That’s ridiculous. They are the ones we wait to be forever rid of.”
…
The photo above is of a kinetic sculpture by german sculptor and puppet artist Christian Werdin found on Pinterest.
I watch her inspecting those damn bushes. Bless her innocent heart, but doesn’t she realize that they will not mutate and flower right under her watchful eagleeye! I think that maybe I should call her and ask her to come back. She’s been gone since 4 pm.
Suddenly she stands, hikes up her skirt, takes a long stride and crosses over to the other side of the hedge. Squats down again. Her expression transitions from curiosity to a frown to glee. In a second, she’s racing back to the building, and in a few minutes barges through the front door.
“Use your words,” I say, “Your flapping does not mean anything to me.”
She’s staring at me. She wants me to understand… can’t understand why I don’t understand. I wait. Eventually the screen will splinter and the words will come. Till then it is a battle of wits.
She beckons me again. I step back. Anger building, she starts rocking on the balls of her feet. I cross my arms, my face expressionless. We both wait.
Eventually her silence shatters. “First flower… come see…”
Image credit pixabay.com
Written in response to MLMM Saturday Mix – Lucky Dip cubes prompt where my interpretation of the cubes is eye, flower, inspect, cross over, mutate, frown, 4 PM, (phone) call, and building.
Tendrils of dawn creep through, flipping a switch, and I am awake.
In the lingering darkness thoughts come out to play… memories like hopscotch. A tango of could-have and should-have. Blackholes on the dance floor.
The window rattles. I am alarmed by it alienness. The need to escape hits like a tornado, but I cannot move. I try harder. My own body won’t obey me. The pressure in by abdomen, burning and building, finally abates.
The alien window rattles again. The fog intensifies. I think perhaps it is time to sleep.
Meanwhile, the sands of time drip like Chinese torture.
Absurd – was the second. Absurd that out of the many words that start with ‘ab’, the first one that I came up with was ‘abs’.
What would this say about me if this were a free-association test? Abysmal.
Perhaps that even while my conscious mind was aware that I was being silly, my subconscious is obsessed with abs and gluts. And that deep down I still suffer with body-positivity issues.
Actually, I’m trying to lose weight again. Yes again. It’s been the story of my life – increase… decrease… I would like to say that it’s only for health reasons, but it’s for health and vanity. But then I guess that’s not abnormal.
That being said, it’s been an absolutely busy day. Saturday will end soon. It was a choice between abstaining or keeping in abeyance and being late or uploading this (almost) abominable piece.
Happy Weekend to any unfortunate readers. Stay safe and keep away from the absinthe 😉
Pls Note: Abs is an abbreviation for abdomen. Ain’t I smart.
She was a people’s person – funny, charming, helpful, a fantastic conversationalist who could talk to anyone – like literally anyone… my friends spent more time talking to her than me. There were only two people who she could never get along with – her husband and her daughter.
Mother carried a deep bitterness in her heart that oftentimes made her cruel. I never saw her smile when there was no outsider to see her smile. My own life toggled between desperately trying to impress her and scheming to out-maneuver her. The child in me eternally craved validation… craved a smile that was addressed at only me.
A year back mum passed on.
When I was clearing out her things, I found boxes of old letters and photographs. It showed me an entire new side of my parents.
I won’t say that I love them any more or any less – I just view them differently. They went from being mum and dad to being a woman and a man with very different characters and perspectives thrown together under challenging circumstances.
I’m happy that I understand them a little better now. I’m sad because the stories of their disappointments live within me now.
As for the letters and photographs – I destroyed them. Some memories are better forgotten.
Harry gulped. His heart pounded inside his chest as he reached his hands into the air…
5… 4… 3… 2… and change…
The walk leader with her cheery smile and not-one-stand-out-of-place hair transitioned into the next exercise.
Half way there – she said. For some reason his mind hummed – living on a prayer.
O God – another 15 minutes to go. Would he even survive it? Sometimes it felt like the exertion would kill him before the obesity did. But he would persevere. He would do it. Not because of all the fat boy jokes – that had become a part of his life – but because he had to do right by his little girl.
“Daddy, the teacher said that fat people are more inclined to having heart attacks. Are you going to die too?”
“No baby girl. Daddy’s not going anywhere for a long long time. I promise.”
Leaking Ink 