Category: fiction

Fatigue, it plagues me

from darkness, source unknown

my eyes have seen the darkness now

no-one cares if you sigh your last
no-one says goodbye

now is when you die.

Billy Bobcat walked down Maple Street.
The maple trees stretched up high towards the sky!
“I want to be as tall as a tree.” Billy Bobcat said.

Billy Bobcat headed into Cricket Lane.
The tiny crickets hid between the grasses making their little noises.
“I want to be as tiny as a cricket.” Billy Bobcat said.

Billy Bobcat arrived home, where his mother was making dinner.
“Oh my Billy! Welcome home!” she exclaimed!
Billy Bobcat’s mom picked him up from the ground and gave him a great big hug!
“I’m just the right size.” Billy Bobcat smiled.

- Copyright (C)2009 by Maki Jaderborg

“I woke up with a hangover the size you could use to build a ropebridge over the grand canyon with, my trusty colt .45 in one hand and my partner for many years, Jack Daniels, in the other. The shot of a gun had woken me from a restless sleep, plagued by the haunted dreams drunken men get when they’ve had one too many. Or, in my case, more than twice as much as was legally allowed. My weary eyes turned up to view a spinning room, looking as old and worn as my unshaven and unwashed face felt like. The hole in the wall opposite my desk, as well as the small wisp of smoke trailing upwards from my gun made me realize the shot I heard had been mine. What a way to start a day.”
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The silence constricts me like a phantom anaconda in the night, my pillow is a mushroom that spreads spores of great imagination into my brain. Woe is my mattress as my body dents it, my sheets envy my drapes, stained as they are with my nosemucous, for they’re not yellow. Lovingly the sun blinds me awake, birds fighting over control of my migraine. I stumble for my coffee, lifeblood of insomniacs worldwide, but find flour instead. My tea is littered with fallen leaves, once blocked by the window I threw my irish flour through. I love to hate my weekdays, for unshaven and half-dressed I get into my broken down car and weep the silent tears of job-slavery.

- Copyright (C)2009 Maki Jaderborg

Life was much easier back then, before the commotion started.

Why this happened to me, I still don’t know.