Trois
You'll never silence the voice of the voiceless
"Time passed as a car passes a decent prostitute, those particles of sand from my great grandfather's antic hourglass fell and piled up at the base faster than my clock ticked. That stupid clock ticked my inspiration away...
I hadn't written a single sentence. I kept rewritting the title. I didn't really know which sounded better, 'The thoughts of a dying insect' or 'Another soul which nobody will miss'.I hate writting these unimportant articles for this unpretentious newspaper that 100 or so people would rather throw at the trash can or burn, but where to get my rent money from?
And yet again another minute passed, minute in which I hadn't written anything but 'A flutter of wings, another step to test the leftovers of it's original vitality'...
And then the phone rang, the saviour of a bored to death soul. The muscles in my fingers cramped because of the rewritting of the same sentence over and over again until tasteless, so holding the phone was a much harder task than I presumed.
Oh, you and your stupid remarks...
'Your brother is an uncivilised, imature brute. I sugest you-' and then I couldn't hear anything anymore. I could predict what he was going to say before he said 'G'morning, miss Baudin': 'I suggest you tighten his leash, or the next time I catch him at another protest, I'm not letting him out'
Even if you heard this, even though you probably thought about it, you would still set their statues and flags on fire and curse them beautifully. You wouldn't stop even if I did have a leash around your neck and tightened it to the point of damaging the muscles, right,Rainier darling?
"Yes, I understand. How much is the bail this time?"
"You know, you shouldn't bail him out every time. Let him spend a few nights in here, it'll do him good"
And another stupid description of my 'uncivilised' brother.
After a minute or so, he answered my question and I hung up, because one more minute would've meant a hundred more brain cells dead.
Actually, I should thank him, that police officer that nobody really likes. He gave me an idea for the next few paragraphs.
And this is how writting became more important than bailing you out, dear brother"
"And you expect me to believe this crap? It reeks in here! You left me two days, two damn days, in this hellhole. I don't think I like you anymore, MorganA!"
"You're so infantile. Mispelling my name, by the way, doesn't bother me a bit.And it's your fault for getting locked in the first place. What did you do this time?"
"I don't even know why they locked me up.I only wrestled a bull who tried to taze me and broke it's horns, by accident, of course"
"..."
I don't really know, tell me, will you, is my brother retarded?
I hadn't written a single sentence. I kept rewritting the title. I didn't really know which sounded better, 'The thoughts of a dying insect' or 'Another soul which nobody will miss'.I hate writting these unimportant articles for this unpretentious newspaper that 100 or so people would rather throw at the trash can or burn, but where to get my rent money from?
And yet again another minute passed, minute in which I hadn't written anything but 'A flutter of wings, another step to test the leftovers of it's original vitality'...
And then the phone rang, the saviour of a bored to death soul. The muscles in my fingers cramped because of the rewritting of the same sentence over and over again until tasteless, so holding the phone was a much harder task than I presumed.
Oh, you and your stupid remarks...
'Your brother is an uncivilised, imature brute. I sugest you-' and then I couldn't hear anything anymore. I could predict what he was going to say before he said 'G'morning, miss Baudin': 'I suggest you tighten his leash, or the next time I catch him at another protest, I'm not letting him out'
Even if you heard this, even though you probably thought about it, you would still set their statues and flags on fire and curse them beautifully. You wouldn't stop even if I did have a leash around your neck and tightened it to the point of damaging the muscles, right,Rainier darling?
"Yes, I understand. How much is the bail this time?"
"You know, you shouldn't bail him out every time. Let him spend a few nights in here, it'll do him good"
And another stupid description of my 'uncivilised' brother.
After a minute or so, he answered my question and I hung up, because one more minute would've meant a hundred more brain cells dead.
Actually, I should thank him, that police officer that nobody really likes. He gave me an idea for the next few paragraphs.
And this is how writting became more important than bailing you out, dear brother"
"And you expect me to believe this crap? It reeks in here! You left me two days, two damn days, in this hellhole. I don't think I like you anymore, MorganA!"
"You're so infantile. Mispelling my name, by the way, doesn't bother me a bit.And it's your fault for getting locked in the first place. What did you do this time?"
"I don't even know why they locked me up.I only wrestled a bull who tried to taze me and broke it's horns, by accident, of course"
"..."
I don't really know, tell me, will you, is my brother retarded?