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| Nick |
| Shoe fly dont bother me. A short story by, Nicholas Sprague Putnam I fell asleep in the fetal position. You can't see shapes in the dark but you can sense them and feel youself changing with your surroundings. I wish I could catch the black dot in the upper right hand corner of my eye. Multicolored squares explode, drift, and follow. But that is beside the point. I awoke to the sound of a spider knitting a sweater. I put on my reality suit, government issued. Opened, closed. Walking, walking, walking. "Hello." "Good Morning." Greetings. Greetings. Nod. Nod. I took a seat on a plastic bench beside a plastic clown in a plastic gown. She asked me if matter mattered. I told myself to get lost. So I did. Soon I was surounded by bark, leaves, and mysterious figures. I could hear the trees breathing and I was thankful. I dance walked. I tripped. I fell down. I was happy to be where I had fallen and decided to stay. Shoe fly don't bother me. It landed on my forearm. I watched it for a moment, beautiful. And then I struck. It was dead. It always was. When I looked at the remains of the fly I realized it was mechanical. Man made. Robotic. How upsetting. I pulled out a blade and chopped off my hand. The blood flowed out of my body and onto the forest floor, quickly being soaked up by the fertile soil. I saw no gears, springs or circuits. But I realized I was mechanical. Man made. Robotic. How upsetting. I quickly tore of my reality suit and saw everything in the whole world for a moment, beautiful. And then it struck. I was dead. I always was. |