A lazy hand swings, swings, swings from a branch of a silly tree. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A wannabe pendulum trying its best to be something it clearly isn’t.
Swing, it goes. Swing, it went. Did it ever stop? Who knows? Will it ever stop? Again, who knows? We haven’t an inkling about these things. For all we know it will probably swing for all eternity. Whatever that means.
The precarious branch creaks. The lazy hand doesn’t stop swinging. To and fro. To and fro. Not minding the world, the universe, all of reality. A tiny bubble of its own. A pocket universe.
The fingers of the lazy hand all swing individually on their own, too, not wanting to be outdone. Short spaghetti noodles dangling and swinging freely from a fleshy palm. The little wriggly things swinging from and slapping against and wrapping around the lazy palm. Like little animated worms… Sweet… delicious worms ripe for the taking….
A deep gurgling followed closely by pained shrieking rings out from the poor, pitiful creature on the ground, writhing and thrashing about uncontrollably in its own pool of gooey blood. The too-bright liquid currently bursting out of its body in bullet-like spurts every few seconds, leaving a dripping mess by the silly tree’s roots. Oh dear…
A tongue is clicked from a slightly low hanging, yet sturdier, branch. Unamused and deeply unimpressed by the events its person is witnessing.
The Observer leans back against the silly tree’s majestic trunk, having had enough. They resume playing with the stick they found earlier, making the string tied on it swing back and forth.
|Originally written: February 18, 2022
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Short StorySweetest Decay, Series 1 A collection of my short stories I first published in my writing blog, Sweet Decay.
