The 6th Fatal Sense

It’s been awhile since I’ve written. Well I did alot of writing the past few days because my job said so, but not the kind that knocks on the black woman inside me. So I started a new routine program to recover from indignat rest–exercise, french and literature class, article writing, research and more research.. I didn’t put attention lately to my character.. she who has mimicked the anti social blackwidow. Maybe I’m still healing from my lost.

Sometimes in bed, I’d hear the ground shaking. Maybe it’s just me. I have a vague distinction between  real and manifested paranoia. Just so I could unburden myself with questions no one wants to hear, I’d bury those dysfunctional senses as perennial actualization of feelings. All of it has no physiological or metaphysical sense. But everything is written in a journal because all of it were as clear as the elements of nature. Don’t try to understand it. You might end up assuming this requires an outside help.

After Little Kitty’s death, Little Ratty has become more comfortable engaging. Last night, he drew back and forth while I was at the balcony smoking. He’s probably weighing my response. I ignored him and so he went even closer, buddying up with my insensitivity. And that was it. I left pride beaten up by a pest.

Tonight, I had few seconds to come out and look up again. The sky is cloudy and the moon is structurally in weird form. For a moment I thought my vision is getting worse. It always has been. The moon is not what it used to be.. color..shape.. hidden among the conniving clouds. Seconds after, it was gone.. I hate it when it feels like this. I knew that something is wrong. The only plausible explanation is.. my head is parasitically infected..


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Abby Mabb

Snarly female. Occasional book reviewer.

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