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Rated: E · Monologue · Occult · #1909607
The speculations of an inmate, regarding milkmen, deserts, and the strangeness of things.
I have always wanted to go to the desert.
I say this because I am afraid of the dark.
I assume that it is never dark in the desert. I mean, it is very bare. So there are no shadows. Except, perhaps my own; but I will lie down on the ground so that I cannot see my shadow.
I have thought it all through, you see.
I think I have placed you under a misconception.
I dream about the desert a lot, but that is not where I live.
There is a Milkman that comes to visit me often. He has seven buttons on his coat and never brings any milk.
He is the most incompetent Milkman I have ever met.
Anyways, Milkman would like to think that we are friends. He comes to see me practically every day. It doesn’t seem to matter to Milkman whether or not I want to be friends with him. Some days I ignore Milkman completely. But he doesn’t seem to care. Sometimes I think Milkman is only talking to himself. Sometimes he talks for so long that I can’t even make out the words anymore; they all run together in a jumbled mess.
Milkman fails to realize how busy I am.
I am always busy because I am always counting.
Counting is very important to me. Milkman doesn’t seem to understand this. One day I counted all of the words Milkman spoke to me.
He spoke 2,389 words.
That is a lot of words.
I am always afraid to count Milkman’s words because he speaks at such a speed that I am worried I will lose count. But sometimes, when I gather my courage, and I am feeling in absolutely top condition, I am able to count all of the words.
2,389 words is Milkman’s record. That’s why I shared it with you, obviously.
Today Milkman bought a bunch of candy for me. It’s rather terrible candy, but Milkman makes me have it anyways. I have candy every morning, but today there was more than usual. I am very aware of this because I have counted.
Milkman took me into the reflective room today. I don’t do well in the reflective room, because it is very dizzying and tiring at the same time. There are all sorts of others that swirl into circles; too many to count. This is obviously very problematic; I try to look at their reflections, you see, but it’s just impossible because they all swirl and blur and color together like fish.
I tried to get the others to stop but they wouldn’t. Some of the other milkmen took me away from the reflective room. It was a very poor situation and Milkman spent 563 words chastising me on my behavior. I told Milkman that it would be more beneficial for him to chastise the others; but naturally he didn’t listen to me. He never does.
Today Milkman brought me chicken strips and green beans and mashed potatoes. I ate the chicken strips and green beans, but obviously stayed away from the mashed potatoes. Milkman fails to see the danger of eating foods you can’t count.
Today I made a friend. I know this seems very strange, especially considering my friend is one of the others, and they are all unbalanced; but this fellow seems perfectly reasonable to me. His name is Pilot. Anyways, Pilot tells me that he wants to live in the sky. I related to him my desires to live in the desert, and he empathized wholeheartedly.
Anyways, Pilot told me that he is being contained here because the government is afraid of him. He asked me why I am contained here. I explained to Pilot that I am contained here because I have nowhere else to be contained.
“Everyone has to be contained somewhere,” I told him.
“I don’t,” Pilot told me, “Although I am.” I wanted to formulate a reply, but there were only two minutes and thirty-nine seconds left in the period. Upon realizing this, I was forced to get to my feet and call to Milkman for help.
Milkman told me that he was willing to help, provided I “don’t make a scene again.” I informed Milkman that everyone is always making a scene, at all times. Milkman seemed very irritated by this, but I couldn’t worry about that because by this point there were only two minutes and five seconds left and the situation was getting desperate.
I can feel today as if it is different than all other days. It is, of course; but it seems as if there is some sort of special significance, what with the mashed potatoes and the extra candy and the reflective room; and what with Pilot, obviously, and his interesting thoughts on where we do or don’t have to be contained. However, it is the most different because I have found this journal to write to. I have never had anything to write to before, so I will be eagerly awaiting your reply. I must retire in seventeen seconds, because I can hear Milkman approaching my door; but I promise to write again soon. I will count the seconds until we meet each other again. I should hope you will be, too.
May all of your dreams be of the desert.
© Copyright 2012 Evie McFarland (murderedpilot at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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