Another Spiritual Friend
The terrible invention of angels builds a temporary shelter, like the respectable brick home of the bashful child molester. He answers quickly and politely when you run out of gas.
But it’s not like you remember the grass, for example, is green, or the safety of adulthood. His mind could be clenched so tight he could barely eat. Besides, it was not the town you were still leaving that burst into flames, but it disturbed your progress anyway.
No, they weren’t really expecting you, a misunderstood friend of a friend with no real talent and twelve easy payments. You had acquired a valuable free gift, hadn’t you, and the next stop certainly wasn’t going anywhere without you.
But I was tired of supplying inspiration and a solid foundation for success in later life. I had behavior. I had a way. I was the real father. I was away. I was a man who had crossed the borders of a country that didn’t have any. I could see my breath ascending into the great dark hands of the descending night.
That guarantee I sent you was priceless. You grew up, didn’t you? But you have to know how to use it. It’s only because you complained that I know your more patient story.
If you haven’t invented yourself, you can’t patent the product. That’s what the home office always says.
Telling someone like me your plan is never a good idea. Someone like me might answer politely and wait for an opportunity. Someone like me might market the fear.
I’ve already seen your life and I thought it was mine. You deserve a refund, but you aren’t going to get it.
Cause of death: perfection, someone else’s wings, a bright blue lump in the opening throat.
Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.