"So your my therapist?"
"No. Why would you think that?", Squirrel said, patting the plush monster on the head.
" Um, maybe because that's what you told me a few seconds ago."
Squirrel just sat there, picking at the polish on her nails. After sitting there for a while, I noticed something strange. If Squirrel was a therapist, how come the walls of her office didn't suggest that she was.
"Um, Squirrel. Where are your certificates?"
"Oh, those pointless things? You see, they make my bedroom feel cluttered, so I don't put them on my walls."
"Wait, don't you mean office? You said that certificates make your bedroom feel cluttered, instead of saying they make your office feel cluttered."
"Did I say that?" All of a sudden she pulled out a big tray of cookies. "Cookie?"
I let out a frustrated sigh. Why was everyone here so crazy. They thought I needed a therapist? What about Squirrel? What about Mr. Sandy? What about all of the "specials"?
"So what can I help you with?",asked Squirrel, who was surprisingly serious.
Thank goodness. I thought Squirrel was actually mental. I guess she was just messing with me.
"Well, honestly, I'm not entirely sure."
Suddenly, Squirrel started screaming. "Ahhhhhhh! What is that on your head? Ha ha! I totes got you."
Okay, maybe she wasn't messing with me.
"Ugg. You know what Squirrel? If you keep acting like a complete loon, I will not hesitate to call security."
"I'm not a loon, silly. A loon is a Canadian bird, and I am a Japanese person."
"Squirrel, you are not Japanese!", that was when I reached for the phone.
YOU ARE READING
A Work of Art
Художественная прозаThere is such thing as a society where everything is grey and full of normals that have no value, gifteds that are like robot abducted humans, and specials that are too powerful for their own good. Everyone in this society is judged by their priceta...
