Little Red's Story // part 12

Their eyes exchanged a glance so swift and sudden that both of them couldn't help but blink. Caught in the nano-second of pause were fear, surprise, jealosy, irritation, and a haughty sort of respect. In a whir, they both understood the gravity of the situation. Red was going blind. Lady Optometry was actually a monkey.

"Oo – oo, aa-aa!" Said Red, in a swift attempt at cross-species communication, forgetting that the monkey had spoken English just moments before. In her mind, the words were pure clear and direct: 'I understand. I love you. Let's go get some bananas.'

But to the lady, it wasn't enough. To reiterate, she spoke words that rarely cross the English-speaking tongue:
"Yes I'm an ape you fucking bitch. And if you tell anyone, I'll slit your unsuspecting girlish throat."

Red nodded, and the lady retreated to call the actual doctor. Blinking, Red wondered if the room was actually becoming dimmer.

Donald Plomskey was well-mannered, well-dressed, and well-educated. He never frowned, never spat, and it never occurred to him to utter a curse. He loved his wife, his kids, and the occasional pegging. In short, he was a mild, mild man. Il etait moins chaud. El es menos piquante. If his temeperament was likened to a pepper, he would be tasteless green bell.

Some forty-eight years prior, he had been born into a soft silken down pillow lifestyle. The kind of pillow that seems so comfortable and soft to the touch, but compresses into nothing when your head actually falls flat, resting on the firmness of the mattress, springs poking into your temple.

Plomskey strolled into the observation room like a graceful, long-legged Dr.Seuss sketch. Today was Friday, also known as Family Fun Day, where he joined his wife and kids for delivered pizza, and the unexpected adrenaline rush of board games. And Donald never lost, even if it made his daughter cry. The evening looked promising. Looking at his extra fancy platinum watch, a gift to commemorate a life of success from his parents, Plomskey beamed. Only 3:30 and his last patient was in the room with him. Chop chop, clap the hands together, finish it up, and he'd beat the traffic home.

"Oh yes, you're the girl with the serious case. The has progressed violently. You should be completely blind in a matter of hours. Please excuse my official and foreboding tone. I've been trained to avoid asking you your feelings on your eminent loss of sight. But honestly, you should think about the benefits. You could change your nickname to 'Blindy McBlind A Lot' or 'Stuck in the Darksicle.' Life could be worse. Any questions?"

Plomskey was a good fellow. A nice one indeed. Tis matters not that he enjoys pegging. To each his own. He had to tell the woman she was going to be blind in a matter of hours, it was his job. He bore a heavy burden on the soul. Imagine, to tell people they are dying, and going blind, every day for a living…Tis tough. But Plomskey sucked it up, he did what he had to do, for it was his job. And Plomskey was a man who did his job, it was all he had.

So he took in a breath, closed his eyes, and thought of two penguins in an ice cavern – one of them slid down an ice shoot and the other one said "Ich muss loss, tschuess" and followed his brethren. The ice cave was his cavern, his center of gravity, his inner Ruheplatz, or was it innerer Ruheplatz? Ever since the second penguin started speaking Plomsky has been seeing several psychoatrists. Sometimes he felt if they were all the same, but charged differently depending on the level of vocabularly they used. Franz von Wolfenburg was his newest hope with an hourly charge of over $250 an hour. This was more than any of his other latest shrinks, but he would pay anything to shut that penguin up. The annoyingly persistent creature has been torturing his mind for over a year now and even though he has gotten used to the voice, the penguin speaking out loud always shocked Plomsky – and thus he entered reality one more time.

[author: unknown]