(Instead of heaven or hell, when you die, you find yourself in the room of a six-year-old girl who invites you to join her tea party. It soon dawns on you, you’re her imaginary friend.)
I awoke suddenly, panicked and raw. My head throbbed like a whirring washing machine spinning at the pace of an infuriated herd of elephants. Sharp, incessant, dull. Slowly, the blinding lights, the thunderous stampede, and the ridiculous whirring died down and I was brought to an uncanny standstill.
Crash!
A million fragile splinters of delicate porcelain shattered on the dusty tawny-brown floorboards. An equally delicate but slightly raspy voice rung like a sonorous dumb-bell in my ears.
Uh-ohh..
Again, light appeared behind my retina like a dusky copper sunrise. Intimate hues of palid pinks, like soft blushes on a breathless baby; powder-white, and aged-yellow, that resembled the faint sepia glow of unwashed, unloved underwear adorned this new surrounding. Almost as if she were part of it was a little girl, unkempt and scrawny, who dressed in a lacy dress and fake, malty pearls bigger than her forlorn hickory eyes. She was pouting down at a broken tea cup, which lay before her, dispassionately glaring at it as if a hen had hatched a signet. The air was musky with baby powder and neglect. Silence reigned like a forgotten spiteful monarch named Ozymandias.
She looked up. She squinted her eyes and I felt an unsettling feeling of warmth and regret.
I’m sorry I broke your cup. I’ll give you another one.
Her voice was as sweet as a withering pea-plant, the table as scarce as Pandora’s box.
I wasn’t the only guest: there were others too. Although I wasn’t that popular before, I felt like a guest-of-honour amongst the quiet company of an earless cinnamon-coloured teddy bear (who I was sure had never heard even the distant whirring of a washing machine), and an eyeless doll who I’m sure had once been an admirable recipient of my current status.
The slow and somewhat distant ticking of a clock measured nothing for me. They say that time flies when you’re having fun, but so did a few dangerous accessories, expensive pieces of cutlery and my patience when I was among that entourage.
More tea, Sir?
No, thank you- I’d rather die.
I awoke suddenly, panicked and raw. My head throbbed like a whirring washing machine spinning at the pace of an infuriated herd of elephants. Sharp, incessant, dull. Slowly, the blinding lights, the thunderous stampede, and the ridiculous whirring died down and I was brought to an uncanny standstill.
Crash!
A million fragile splinters of delicate porcelain shattered on the dusty tawny-brown floorboards. An equally delicate but slightly raspy voice rung like a sonorous dumb-bell in my ears.
Uh-ohh..
Again, light appeared behind my retina like a dusky copper sunrise. Intimate hues of palid pinks, like soft blushes on a breathless baby; powder-white, and aged-yellow, that resembled the faint sepia glow of unwashed, unloved underwear adorned this new surrounding. Almost as if she were part of it was a little girl, unkempt and scrawny, who dressed in a lacy dress and fake, malty pearls bigger than her forlorn hickory eyes. She was pouting down at a broken tea cup, which lay before her, dispassionately glaring at it as if a hen had hatched a signet. The air was musky with baby powder and neglect. Silence reigned like a forgotten spiteful monarch named Ozymandias.
She looked up. She squinted her eyes and I felt an unsettling feeling of warmth and regret.
I’m sorry I broke your cup. I’ll give you another one.
Her voice was as sweet as a withering pea-plant, the table as scarce as Pandora’s box.
I wasn’t the only guest: there were others too. Although I wasn’t that popular before, I felt like a guest-of-honour amongst the quiet company of an earless cinnamon-coloured teddy bear (who I was sure had never heard even the distant whirring of a washing machine), and an eyeless doll who I’m sure had once been an admirable recipient of my current status.
The slow and somewhat distant ticking of a clock measured nothing for me. They say that time flies when you’re having fun, but so did a few dangerous accessories, expensive pieces of cutlery and my patience when I was among that entourage.
More tea, Sir?
No, thank you- I’d rather die.
