InsaneJournal

Current mood:

artistic

theladydelirium: Snowmen (seasidecafe)
She doesn't come in through the door.

Someone is speaking. It would be rude to interrupt. She doesn't seem as if she is listening (preferring to gaze out the window at the falling snowflakes), yet she knows exactly when the person before her has finished talking because she sits down (and there was no chair there a moment ago, but now there is, and it is as if it has always been there, maybe before time was time).

"My doggy couldn't come with me," she says. "I wanted him to, though. but he was sleeping, like a nice doggy."

For a moment, she looks as if she has forgotten not only what she was going to say, but also where she is and in whose company.

Then, before anyone else can take his or her turn in recounting their tales, she says, "Snowmen are funny. And, uh. They're made of. That stuff. They're made of it. That puffy, cold stuff. Flour." A pause, and then: "My doggy doesn't like snowmen."

After another second of thought (the snowflakes she was watching before turn into turquoise jellyfish and begin to float inside the room and around and over her chair, but she doesn't pay them much attention, and the other residents of the room try not to either, but how could they explain it?), she seems to brighten up and nearly bounce in her seat.

"I made one once, though. It was all white and stuff. And there was an orange thingy - like an orange, only it wasn't an orange, and it wasn't that bubbly shape of an orange, but still like one - that was long and sharp (I stuck that in it up! up! up!). And it was a nice snowman. I even made it walk and talk. I got up and it was so pretty..."

Her expression is dreamy. Nobody interrupts her this time.

"And I made it like another snowmperson (only I didn't make it this time, it was already made, by someone I don't know who it was but it wasn't me no no not me no...). And they were together all the time and, and, and thy melted. They melted in the sun when it was noon and the sun was hot above them." A gentle sigh. "I didn't like them much. My doggy likes snowmen, though. My doggy likes the flour."

Unexpectedly, she gets up from her chair, curtsies--

"Hello. My name is Del," she says in her most businesslike tone.

--then sits back down and begins to play with one of the jellyfish, making it in turns swap its colour for orange, then deep blue, then green as fresh grass.