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An absurdist love story
Jun. 15th, 2005 02:31 pm"Did you know that there are stupid people on the internet?" Greta's eyes were wide as she spoke to me, and I thought I could fall into them.
"Greta, my love, my darling, my angel, your eyes are like pools of Tim Horton's coffee." I spoke softly, looking up through my eyelashes in an attempt to meet her eyes. For some reason, however, neither eyeball strayed from its socket. They didn't introduce themselves either; it was quite rude of them.
She shook her head and her dark hair tossed as she did so. "Like, oh my god, there's also porn on the internet. It makes me feel dirty."
I contemplated that for a few moments, then reached for her hand. Softly, I brushed it against my lips, then returned it to her, grateful that there had been no gushing blood this time. "No, my delectable strumpet, it is your hair that is dirty, black like dirty motor oil." My ninth grade English teacher would be proud; I was using similes just like she'd taught me to. Oh, there were so many wonderful things she taught me, like the use of the metal forge, and how to tie the stem of a cherry in a knot with my tongue. If I could use even some of the knowledge she had tried to cram into my cranium, surely Greta would be mine. And maybe this headache would go away.
Her eyes met mine, then softened -- a good thing, since hard eyeballs are not natural, nor healthy. "You always see inside my heart." It was true. After all, what is x-ray vision for? If only I hadn't lost my other powers in that freak nuclear accident. Then Greta would surely be mine!
"Then..." I hesitated, but bravely pressed on, "...then, Greta darling, will you give me your heart?"
She looked startled at the request at first, but then considered it more carefully. "I'm kind of using it right now, you know." Then, she prodded her chest, right above where her lovely heart, so big, so golden, lay. "Nope. Not mushy quite yet. I guess I'm not ripe for the taking."
I hung my head. I was so hungry! All that talk of dirty motor oil, Tim Horton's coffee, and hearts, and the teasing bitch gave me nothing? I must truly be unworthy.
It was then that we were interrupted by the parachuting pink elephants. You know. The ones you're not supposed to think about?
But that's another story.
"Greta, my love, my darling, my angel, your eyes are like pools of Tim Horton's coffee." I spoke softly, looking up through my eyelashes in an attempt to meet her eyes. For some reason, however, neither eyeball strayed from its socket. They didn't introduce themselves either; it was quite rude of them.
She shook her head and her dark hair tossed as she did so. "Like, oh my god, there's also porn on the internet. It makes me feel dirty."
I contemplated that for a few moments, then reached for her hand. Softly, I brushed it against my lips, then returned it to her, grateful that there had been no gushing blood this time. "No, my delectable strumpet, it is your hair that is dirty, black like dirty motor oil." My ninth grade English teacher would be proud; I was using similes just like she'd taught me to. Oh, there were so many wonderful things she taught me, like the use of the metal forge, and how to tie the stem of a cherry in a knot with my tongue. If I could use even some of the knowledge she had tried to cram into my cranium, surely Greta would be mine. And maybe this headache would go away.
Her eyes met mine, then softened -- a good thing, since hard eyeballs are not natural, nor healthy. "You always see inside my heart." It was true. After all, what is x-ray vision for? If only I hadn't lost my other powers in that freak nuclear accident. Then Greta would surely be mine!
"Then..." I hesitated, but bravely pressed on, "...then, Greta darling, will you give me your heart?"
She looked startled at the request at first, but then considered it more carefully. "I'm kind of using it right now, you know." Then, she prodded her chest, right above where her lovely heart, so big, so golden, lay. "Nope. Not mushy quite yet. I guess I'm not ripe for the taking."
I hung my head. I was so hungry! All that talk of dirty motor oil, Tim Horton's coffee, and hearts, and the teasing bitch gave me nothing? I must truly be unworthy.
It was then that we were interrupted by the parachuting pink elephants. You know. The ones you're not supposed to think about?
But that's another story.
