Instalment One Hundred and Fifty One

He wasn’t sold, I could tell.

“I can come back at anytime?”

“Anytime you want,” I reassured. “Wanna look around?”

I gestured to a large green field with 10-foot fencing.

“It’s empty?”

“Look again, squinting helps.”

I could see realisation crawl across his face.

“They’re so fast.”

“They move quick when you give em air.”

“So how does this work?”

“I don’t know who each belongs to but once a day I listen to them all. It feeds them. Warning though, I don’t know what you’re looking to tell but some of them in there, well they are dark.” I opened the gate and grabbed at air.

I held one up to his nose.

I used to poison my baby sister, just a little, to keep her sick.

“T-t-that’s awful.”

“Can’t ever tell if their true but yeah, that’s the hard part of the job, listening to them. That’s what you pay for if you can’t keep your own Secret.”

“What are those ugly trees?”

“Side business. You ever plant a kiss one someone who didn’t want it. That’s what grows. I take em free of charge, but come autumn they sure drop some Secrets. And those I charge for.”

Instalment One Hundred and Fifty

History repeated herself.

It was something she had only recently become conscious of doing.

It added emphasis to the point she was making, she felt.

People say a lot of things, always talking and filling silences.

But you say something two three times in a row, people think you're a politician or a preacher. And they are ready to laugh or listen.

Well History was a teacher and she would do anything to get her students to listen to what she said.

“As I said, those that don’t learn in this class are doomed to repeat it.”

There was not a single passing grade present in the class room.

History’s students were failing her.

Or was History failing them?

Well obviously, in a very literal sense History was failing her students by marking them.

But she worried she was failing them as a teacher.

There were already a lot of familiar faces in this class from last year, who were familiar from the year before that too.

She had taught the same classes every year and it had not occurred to her that maybe the lesson was wrong.

History had not learnt her own lessons but she kept repeating them.

Instalment One Hundred and Forty Nine

As soon as they saw the sign, folks would laugh. Point, laugh and pay their money then laugh and point some more. 

The World’s Tallest Dwarf and The World’s Shortest Giant.

“It’s just gonna be someone normal” The joke every. single. person. made.

But it wasn’t funny, not for the two people on the sign. You knew the second you saw them. You know if you are looking at a dwarf, height is not the signifier, it’s something about the ratio of the arms and legs to the body. She was a very tall dwarf but a dwarf all the same. Same went for him, extraordinary growth of the hands and head, just short. And the voice, he had a giant’s voice. He was the average height of a woman in Hungary, and she was as tall a man from India. Five five and five five. They saw eye to eye on one thing, it wasn’t a double act so much as a double double curse. Being different in any way is tough enough. You want to fit in. But these two, dwarves shunned her and giants overlooked him.

In time they wed.

“Dwarf Giant marries Giant Dwarf.”

Everyone laughed.

Instalment One Hundred and Forty Eight

The On Paper Poet presents Rhymes For Your Eyes Only.

This poem’s a poem for only your eyes to read.
If you try and speak it aloud you will be mislead.
For now is the time for you to let eyes to lead.
It’s harder to say then any poem you have ever read.

For all the pronunciations you see, that they take turns and alternate.
Not big or small changes mind you, they are just moderate.
You are the boss, take charge, it is all yours to moderate.
But just when you think it’s one rhyme it’s not, it is the alternate.

Lined up in rows, is this eye rhyming content.
Mind and mouth will have rows and not be content.
Wrap it up in bows, it is a wonderful present.
But take your bows quick should you choose to present.

Loud and clear, make sure your voice does project.
Should you try to master this difficult project.
To many errors your audience will be subject
If you should tackle this difficult subject.

Your ego to ridicule, you must willingly expose.
The end is near, fear not it’s getting so close. 
No scandal for you, no silly exposé.
For on this last line trust me, the poem will close.

Instalment One Hundred and Forty Seven

People wanted to call them zombies but they weren’t, that wasn’t fair. Then we all would have been zombies once. There was no zombie plague. It was a good plague. Is there a word for a good plague? Sweeping mass construction? Applauselypse? Dogastrophe? Holoclaps.  I guess not. The virus, is that word correct? The virus infected 90% of the population. Total worst case scenario type scenario. Dis-bloody-aster. But turns out it wasn’t, not for 90% of us.

Faster reflexes, increased brain function and muscle mass, mild telepathy. Faster, smarter, stronger. A super human virus. Everyone tried to catch it so they developed a vaccination, no that’s wrong, an incubation I guess? We all took our shots. And waited. I was always pretty smart, so no worries here. Those who couldn’t catch it, they moved slow, thought slow, talked slow. Well, compared to the infected. So they got angry. They called infected braincases, brains for short. They lashed out. Slow, violent and yelling ‘brains,’ you can see where the name came from. “The kind thing to do would be to kill them,” I said, “is kind the word?”

“Why aren’t you using your telepathy?” my son asked me. 

“Brains,” I said.