It was an ordinary day. The sun was insinuating itself into my sinews (it's called melanin Mom, some of us have more of it than others), crowds of people hurtled into each other, the snatch thieves on motorbikes were going their merry way, dragging victims along stony pavements, while others watched and sighed. A very ordinary day.
Suddenly, a man in a grey trench coat sidled out of the shadows and growled at me:
"There's a number out on one of your molars!"
Huh? Apart from anything else, this is Malaysia and people don't wear trench coats.
I swallowed nervously and squeaked: "Um, what do you mean?"
But he had sidled back into the shadows from whence he emerged.
I dropped on one knee, clutching my aching tooth and declaimed passionately:
"Yet never, never can we part,
while Memory holds her reign,
Thine, thine is still this withered heart,
Till we shall meet again."
13 comments:
Very surreal.
Huh? Did I miss the hidden meaning here?
Nessa: I was bored and had nothing to write. So I drew on a speech I wrote for my sister Jackie years and years ago.
David: It was a prologue to a visit to the dentist. :)
Oh duh.
I must have blocked it out because of my own share of bad visits to the dentist.
You are a very creative writer, Jenn.
David you have successfully warmed the cockles of this jaded old heart. The cry goes round, Jenn's heart is warmed.
Bless you my child.
I think I'd like to read the epilogue from you return from the dentist's office. Nothing like novocaine and drool to make for supreme surrealism.
Some things are better left to the imagination.
The pain doesn't end with those bright shiny objects they thrust into your mouth (gosh, why does that sound obscene?)
Most dentists over here prescribe a particularly virulent white pill which has you heaving up your oesophagus by the second day.
You've turned a visit to the dentist's into a Shakespearian play. "Out damn molar!"
I meet thy pensive moonlight face,
Thy thrilling voice I hear,
and former sights and scenes retrace,
Too fleeting and too dear.
And life has nought beside for me so sweet as this despair.
Let's see your poem written after your appointment with your tax accountant
A prophecy about a tooth ache?
David: Am flattered but that's not mine. It's HF Lyte's and I just cribbed it.
Pink: Um no, the prophecy wasn't about the toothache so much as a looming tooth extraction.
David: I forgot to add, my tax accountant is my brother...he is a tax consultant with a leading MNC, so easy peasy. He does everything for me and I sit back and smirk happily. Everyone should be related to a tax consultant.
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