Hardly Noticeable

Friday, November 04, 2005

Got a heart of gold right here in my rusting chest

My grandfather had given me a dictionary for my ninth birthday and often sent me letters laced with words that I had never seen before. The words were not arcane or sophisticated: they were merely words that were just beyond my level of comprehension. A letter that I had received in June, a letter that I still have to this day, had the word “foreboding,” a word that I did not know. I had looked it up and written it in my word journal, but up until the moment I walked into my room I never truly understood what the word meant. I could smell it in the air, something tainting the natural milk-mustard scent of the room. In the box I saw the little chick that I had never named, its feet sticking out from the top of the bowl of water I’d put in the box. It must have tried to reach too far into the water, and in doing so it drowned under its own weight. If it had been able to cry out, I would have been able to save it. It shall be resolved. I had cursed that little chick to its death; that was the only thought clear inside me. I looked at that notebook, the green notebook, and my eyes began to burn.


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