5 – The Train Ride

I had a semi heart attack when I realized I left my computer at work. Daisy folded her legs out of bed, throwing her white duvet toward her pillows in an act of defiance or something like that. For some reason, she could feel her forehead wrinkle as she quickly discerned, “Oh, just wonderful. I’m angry again.” She walked towards earth, sashaying in a banana yellow-toned gold.

Comma.

She entered. Now, walking criss-crossed down the tree-lined, brick-rung park pathway, she hated this part. She knew they tried to conceal the portal at the ‘end’ of the line, but you could always see it. The air around it was crinkly and wet. It was also technologically Prussian, giving off data to Whom (a.k.a. Google Analytics). They were still around, you know. In any case, she supposed most disconcerted artists would notice it.

Daisy proclaimed with both arms outstretched toward the new entrant, “Hop right in!” She was stretching really. He didn’t notice it. He was a mediocre-sized weasel carrying ‘today’s’ paper and sporting a rather smart trilby hat appropriately coloured rat. Hmm, I wonder if he’s just come in from the races? Daisy adjusted herself, pulling her navy blue rayon skirt down her legs.

Filburt squinted quintessentially. She has to think I’m coming here from the 50s, otherwise this proposition just won’t work. “Ahem!” Daisy stopped daydreaming of moment memories. She was playing with the ‘quaint daisy design’, imagining days of lorn, when she was just a wee little cartoon.

“Yes?”, “What is your girth? And are you in a state of dominant Manipura?” 

She didn’t even bother to reply. What a stupid statement. Of course she was. She always was. Especially in Free state. Daisy curtly ruffled her shiny snakeskin BCBG and answered him, “I am now going to roll my eyes and you are going to walk that way, in this direction.” Filburt trembled like a dandelion in new spring wind and promptly – disappeared. Goddamnit! Skirt?! Stomach?! For Christ’s sake!

I don’t have time for this patience. The Need paused. This is not something new. The Pause crossed long, lanky arms and turned his eyeballs in reverse. Training never ended, Daisy hated it. She had been through it a million and ten times. She was even beginning to seem like him. The father of all wrongdoing. Addictions created them. Where found them. Elevententeen was their only solace.

Please come, spring.

 

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Chona Fe Canlas - Writer. Artist. Designer.

Chona creates powerful content poised on the edge of innovation and the mainstream. She seeks out new concepts and strategies aimed to help businesses advance in branding, marketing & sales. She specializes in creative/technical writing, brand strategy and art direction.

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