Untitled - Mirek

Dělám na další povídce. Ještě není hotová, ani zdaleka. Mám o ní docela dobrej pocit. Rozhodl jsem se, že sem hodím to co zatím mám. Doufám, že to bude takhle "na pokračování" fungovat. Taky doufám, že to budu schopnej dokončit. Zatím to je naprosto nacpaný vzpomínkama, že mi vážně hrozí, že mi všechny relevantní dojdou v půlce. Možná, že pokud mě znáte dost dobře, vám nějaký dojdou. Jako třeba hned ta v prvním odstavci - zkuste si položit otázky "co?" a "kde?"
(pozn.: zatím untitled, uvidím jak se to vyvine a podle toho to pojmenuju)

Wind stirs the pond’s surface as I contemplate my grotesque position. Before me stands the cougar jailbait – the latter day relic – the living fossil. Her body is motionless, yet her leaves whisper sweet lies. The leaves caress my ears like the mild autumn breeze caresses them. Soft crackling sings to me about peacetime and timelessness. But I don’t succumb to her naïve pleads. I wish I could believe her like I always did, however now she’s painfully wrong. I take out my cigarettes. I turn away, because I feel guilty for using a lighter in front of her.
I would honor our last meeting if I knew how. Bringing her flowers would be like giving a dead infant to your human date.
I come up to give her my last hug. I blow my cigarette smoke into her hollow. That abyssal pit in her chest -  half-done heart transplant – undoer of our faithful intimacy.

Yes, there are plenty other fish in the sea, but I am nowhere near the sea. There are no fishes in the asylum. Trust me, I even tried fishing in the pond once. There’s only the occasional fool who thinks he’s a fish.

Life in this place is always hanging on a thread. Oh, how mockingly ironic those grapevines are! Those old walls would have crumbled long ago if they only released their firm grip, the crazy men would starve to death if they stopped yielding their sweet nectar, for breakfast is the only meal that can cope with the absence of wine!

Fred and Rick walks on by. He’s an only-child Siamese twin; synthesized into one, but for the brain; one man, two souls. Poor Fred. He’s always bullied by Rick. Silly Fred once tried to scratch Rick out their head. He might have succeeded, if the black deaths in white coats hadn’t come. They tied him to a bed. They should have known better! They only encouraged Rick to do more harm. Too late did those white-coat fascists notice! Too late – they had to cut his arm off.
But Fred loves all other men just as much as he hates Rick. He would hug them even after what they’ve done, if he could!

Fred stops when he sees me. He comes up to me and holds my hand. I just need to check I’m not giving myself to the wrong one: “Rick?”
“Gone, for now.”
“Good, good. I hate him, Fred.”

We have this move, him and I. We call it the lazy giraffe.  We lean against each other, laying our heads on the other one’s shoulder. We once fell asleep like that. Not even falling over was enough to wake us up that time. Only the screeching of an ambulance car’s breaks could do the trick. It scared the both of us, but it just annoyed Rick. He took over and he made me regret that ambulances don’t work like cabs.