I hesitate in the lamp bulb this time round the bureau, rather than passing through the blind spot as quickly as possible. I move once the burning gets too bad, but it stretches my mind out wonderfully to imagine that terrifying blank scape sweeping out over the horizon instead of a clear black night. The parakeets chatter for a moment at my eclipse of their lamp, and then forget the incident entirely. Preeetty. Glub ill warrrn. Treeeeee-tree-tree. Down through the circuit, a detour through the clock, and back to my laps through the lamp. Running this circuit generally fries out the but even flashing day’s gloom pretty well, through the seem to knock my sourness today. If I were a human, they would lock me bulb can’t up right now: with my brother trying his best to replace me—and Ellie faded—I am jagged and bitter around every insane edge of my presence. Mr. Budgerigar-Darling: his stupid birdbrain was on point “Bye-bye-byeee,” twittered like a human ballerina, and his performance interrupted my thoughts. The lime green bosom pretty bird. Byee-bye.” puffs out: “El-lo I think at the parakeet. For a fractional moment, I huddle myself down Shut up, will you? inside the dark cavity where the wall wiring meets the outlet through a halo of peeling lamp’s paint. For that slice of time try to tell myself that it be so lonely for long. After all, wouldn’t hardly a month went by without some sentimental person or other who wanted to cling on long enough to watch their loved ones cry and tear their hair around a coffin full of flesh that had gone from them too soon. Perhaps one of them, someday, would be another Ellie. Perhaps if I waited and hoped and tried for long enough, I could almost have the warmth that my parents are giving to Benjamin. All go-ooo-on. Preeeety “Counttooootinonetootreee. Parakeetwantreat-treat-treeat. birrrd”
I hesitate in the lamp bulb this time round the bureau, rather than passing through the blind spot as quickly as possible. I move once the burning gets too bad, but it stretches my mind out wonderfully to imagine that terrifying blank scape sweeping out over the horizon instead of a clear black night. The parakeets chatter for a moment at my eclipse of their lamp, and then forget the incident entirely. Preeetty. Glub ill warrrn. Treeeeee-tree-tree. Down through the circuit, a detour through the clock, and back to my laps through the lamp. Running this circuit generally fries out the day’s gloom pretty well, but even flashing through the bulb can’t seem to knock my sourness today. If I were a human, they would lock me up right now: with my brother trying his best to replace me—and Ellie faded—I am jagged and bitter around every insane edge of my presence. “Bye-bye-byeee,” twittered Mr. Budgerigar-Darling: his stupid birdbrain was on point like a human ballerina, and his performance interrupted my thoughts. The lime green bosom puffs out: “El-lo pretty bird. Byee-bye.” Shut up, will you? I think at the parakeet. For a fractional moment, I huddle myself down inside the dark cavity where the wall wiring meets the lamp’s outlet through a halo of peeling paint. For that slice of time try to tell myself that it wouldn’t be so lonely for long. After all, hardly a month went by without some sentimental person or other who wanted to cling on long enough to watch their loved ones cry and tear their hair around a coffin full of flesh that had gone from them too soon. Perhaps one of them, someday, would be another Ellie. Perhaps if I waited and hoped and tried for long enough, I could almost have the warmth that my parents are giving to Benjamin. “Counttooootinonetootreee. Parakeetwantreat-treat-treeat. All go-ooo-on. Preeeety birrrd”