500 weps & molasses…

Like Drinking Molasses

He woke up that night aposiopetic. He spoke in fits. He spoke in starts that ended abruptly.

Just as a thought was gathering steam he’d hit a wall and become suddenly silent. He didn’t even taper off, it was sharp and severe.

“Good morning, hun, would you— wep— I though we might—wep— I’d like to— wep— I don’t know what is—wep—“

He felt a globule of fear expand in his throat, becoming a vise and sitting like acid in his neck…

The night became an ellipsis…

He caught it… He was sick now… His life would be different from here on out…”

And all he could manage was:

“I voted Republican… wep… I’m a Methodist now… wep… I converted online… wep…”

“If you write every day, you’re going to write a lot of things that aren’t terribly good, but you’re going to have given things a chance to have their moments of sprouting.”

— Nicholson Baker

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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