To Another Place (Pt. 4)

“Our voice and hearing are still here. We hear the calls and respond. You asked to leave. To go to another place. To bathe somewhere clean. So we helped.”

“Where’s your giant hand?”

“That’s our brother. Our hand has gone off to another place.”

“How can your hand be gone and you’re still here? Aren’t you one thing like me?” Sperry crosses his arms tightly, his pointer and middle fingers nervously itching just above the elbow.

“Our hand is the youngest and does the lifting, carrying. Our middle brother is the ears, does the listening. Our oldest is the voice and does the talking.”

Sperry looks around for clues of where he is.

“We are one thing just like you. But our hearing doesn’t catch it all. Our hand goes and does what it wants. Our voice can only say what it knows. We’re not connected like the water within that lake, but we are one thing.”

“Can I have soap?”

“We are not a genie.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Sperry flares his nostrils.

“We don’t know. Our ear heard a call for a clean place. Our hand brought you here. And our voice did what it could to explain.”

“My name is Sperry. What is yours? Do you have one name or three? What do I even call you?”

“You already called us. Stop asking questions.”

Sperry keeps talking, but his shaky voice echoes in his shallow outdoor chamber. The lake finally fulfills its sterile name. No animals, no giant hand, no voice, and nothing to listen. Sperry gets out of the water, only because his own hand holds his privates. He walks to where he was dropped and notices a piece of curtain came along for the journey. What a terrible final line of defense for a shower. If the locked door and roof did nothing to secure him, then how could this flimsy piece of fiber ever keep him safe?

Except now it can. Sperry wraps the remaining cloth around himself to salvage his remaining dignity. He’s covered and ready to venture. He feels he can’t be too far from civilization, so he begins walking into the trees, feeling protected by his polyester loincloth. He’s sure if he walks long enough he’ll hit a street in no time.

Although he forgets about his four hour coma.

Advertisements

Use your voice

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: