I wrote this last night, tell me what you think. I was fully sober and substance free when writing this. Hopefully it will make someone laugh.
I made a sandwich today for the tenth time.
Butter. Lettuce. A slice of cheese. A tomato.
I ate it in twenty bites – I know this because I counted. I listened to my jaw grinding some silly Spanish tune. Funny things are not really funny. I could have choked on it, and then I would have laughed. The light came in through the curtain as I opened the fridge counting all the materials that could be used for a sandwich. I still had a few pieces of stale bread in the bread bin.
Maybe if I toasted it. Maybe I should toast myself?
Sometimes the world is a woman, the earth it’s bed. I wish I could make love with the world. It is strange. If I had a dog I would make it dinner every day. It would eat better than me. Maybe he would want spaghetti and meatballs.
“Make it saucy,” he would say.
So I made another sandwich, I ended up burning my hand on the toaster. I cried when I cut up some onion and threw it on my toast.
I wept when the onion sting crept up my nose, through my eyes, and then down somewhere into the heart. I pondered when the walls fell down and the windows filled my eyes with sunshine. Onions are no drug, though I could see a rainbow of trees and green. A pink elephant balanced on one leg on the head of a skinny, blonde ballerina. Maybe it was the sandwich or the sandwiches that I had overdosed on. I picked up the sandwich and threw it against the wall.
It stuck – splat!
I saw my heart, red and pumping on the other side of the room, it was sitting down. He had skinny red arms and legs. He wore a black bowler’s cap on the right hump of his head, and a little pair of white shorts hid his bottom. A black bow-tie added a touch of class as he pulled up his white gloves that were a few sizes too large. All he was missing was a cane.
I smiled and said, “Hello!”
He pushed back the chair and slowly said, “Hi.”
I eyed him up and down. Strange. I thought maybe if I turned on the TV he would go away, but when I turned on the news he only walked over to the couch and sat down, folded his legs and then crept slowly towards the box.
He asked “News?”
I replied, “Yes.”
The news presenter reported the birth of the world’s smallest cow it would somehow make milking faster, farmers could access the teats easier. The cow came on the screen with its massive pink tits as a Golden Retriever walked up to it- the same size.
The heart, sitting in my living room, was getting to me. I turned my head and watched my sandwich slide slowly down the wall. The woman continued to drone. Light kept on streaming in through the window as I watched a thousand parts of me walk and float around the room. A liver had little angel wings glued to its sides. Two brown kidneys were sharing a joke. My lungs were coughing in the corner, complaining of the tar that made it sick. My intestines were worming around looking for room to sleep. My heart kept on watching TV as blood trickled off the wall, drained and dripped as the light bulb flickered and then went black.
I strained to see, the TV was no longer on. The light from the window had died. After finding another bulb in the darkness, and somehow putting it in, I switched on the light. My sandwich was in my hand. No one was in my sitting room. A little bit of light from the window flickered in. I eyed the full onion wrapped in brown paper like skin. No onion. No sandwich. I flung it in the bin, sat down and watched some TV. Some blonde headed woman mumbled on about the world’s smallest cow.