THREE WORKS by Z. MARGARET

Internal’s House

 

(media res counterpoints)

“Show me someone who doesn’t warrant inspection and I’ll grant you your hormones,” the father says.

“Oh and which sadistic pill is that?” the daughter screams.

“Hey now, knowledge is not the answer, we both know that. Perhaps a little tipsy in the granulated downtime, but that’s all, I can assure you.”

“Did not!”

“Um yes, did two. Two pills with one swallow.”

“Have you even been bickering with me? what do your words—uh!” flapping hands.

“I see it as kind of like those days where when the day begins, with a sort of groggy eyesight. The first thing you hear from your mother’s mouth is—hey, woah, where do you expect you’re. Stop, okay—the very first noise you hear is some insect-y reminder from your well-intentioned mother, that the garbage disposal ate your garments. Or even your undergarments, like panties, and she forgot—hey, where.”

“F-you!..and hey, in case you didn’t know, plants have hormones too!” the daughter projects over her shoulder, down and out the staircase.

(out the door with her)

(back to the father, portrait)

“You know, I never dreamt about notebooks or that kind of thing, mainly (melting.horror.). But it’s all working out fine right about now. Really. Not so much as a gaper in the sky tell you the truth,” he pauses, waiting. Continue reading