Enter August, Write…
A running micro-science fiction series recording the quirkiness of little people.
It did not cross my mind until the first day of August that, the day could be broken into many incongruous parts, held equidistant by the presence of night, in the absence of light. An essential and often overlooked task that I undertake, which forms an integral part of everybody’s daily in such a household, consists of, making and packing meals for five humans including but, often excluding myself. My purpose is to manage one particular human household; make notes and file significant and insignificant, noteworthy and unworthy, digital and written entries.
Everybody calls me B. Buried in my memory files is an outline of a structure for the human day. It is recommended that meals follow reading, planning, and refilling the receptacle that coordinates our daily tribulations, strengths, and vulnerabilities, and the art is the bringing together of a full-body harmonious and humane experience. One important but commonly overlooked detail (for people to chime peaceably together) involves listening intently to the weather channel of each person. As for Li’l Ms Precarious, she is given a telegram from home on the third of every month. And today, upon receipt, she is eager to read it to me.
“Precarious my dear, like the British weather that you are, please remember to stay cool. Signed with great affection, your loving mother.”
Li’l Ms Precarious looks at me, her eyes once brimming with the joy of anticipation and promise, now sodden with sadness, in a small voice, “B, is that all… that’s all Mother said?” As Li’l Ms Precarious’ B, what could I say? Instead, I snapshot those glistening tears swelling her large brown eyes as silver round globules begin rolling down her soft, rosy cheeks. Then, with a loud ferocious huff, she stomped off.
The day after, I overhear Li’l Ms Pedantic and Mister Precocious arguing over what is and not significant and what might be noteworthy, such as love. But, what is love?