"Borderline Surreal"

Here is a quick piece I penned (technically typed) just now, I have not read back over it or edited it in any way. I can only assume that it will be the most moving item of micro-literature you have ever encountered.

It is entitulated, The Dead Bears, and it is a poignant satire of modern life, as well as medieval life, space-age life and The Good Life by Weezer. It is none of these, actually, and yet somehow it is all of them. Here is it? It is yes.

*****

The Dead Bears

by Pretentia Penworthy III of Morose-upon-Tyne

I lined the keyboard up to the computer tower in a symmetrical fashion and reached out the index finger of my right hand in order to switch off the monitor, in order to save electricity, as I was now done with my computering for the afternoon. I swivelled myself out of my swivel chair, shouldered my shoulder bag and wristed my wristwatch. I shepherded my swivel chair underneath the desk so as to save on space and give the area a neat, minimalist look. Symmetry and judicious use of space is important to me.

As I shuffled absently along the row of computers, I ensured that each keyboard was symmetrically placed, and that each monitor was switched off in order to save electricity, now that all computering was suspended for the evening. Ensuring that the situation is such has become second nature to me, after spending many an evening in my role as The Arbiter of Respectable Behaviour In and Around The Computer Laboratory. I have seen many a horrific misdeed and happenstance during my tenure here, such as the sodden summer that followed the panda pop spillage catastrophe, but nothing could prepare me for the hideous carnage I witnessed as I was about to leave my station.

Atop the worktops, a sight so horrific it could drive a sensible man to god. Splayed along the usually glisteningly clean surface were the still warm bodies of a wild pack of bears. They were clearly dead, though strangely, there were no marks on their bodies to indicate just how they had become extinct. I quickly overcame my shock at the unexpected garish scene spread out before me, and I began to formulate theories…

Perhaps they had been brought low by a sneakily administered poison, but I quickly discounted this theory, for it was not as interesting as my next, and final theorem. WITCHCRAFT! Surely the only way to render such a large gathering of bearfolk dead would be through the use of WITCHCRAFT! I instantly began to suspect the group of witches we'd hosted earlier in the afternoon. I should have had my suspicions earlier, as we are a computer-based organisation, they would have had no interest in our services as there is nothing that witches hate more than computers, apart from warm baths, Catholicism, manufactured pop outfits, right-wing think-tanks and bears. BEARS! Of course! This outrageous situation could only have been concocted in the twisted imagination of a witch. And only brought into the realm of the real world through the twisted magic of a witch.

The carnage! I wished for nothing more than to avert my eyes from the grisly scene, but I could not for fear that I would become unstuck in reality. Some of the carcasses were already turning a fluorescent yellow in the dusk, as famously happens when bears pass away. Unusually, however, some of the empty vessels were putrefying and turning an angry red, whilst other were morphing to a festering gangrenous green colour. Never had I seen such hideous and inhumane animal cruelty. Well, not since PUTA (the people for the unethical treatment of animals (also is a naughty word in Spanish)) summoned the anthropomorphised concept of cruelty to animals and It strode amongst the cattle of Thebes culling them and half-heartedly laying waste to the surrounding fiefs so as to misdirect future investigators off the scent of what was a purely animal-hating-based culling venture.

On the verge of weep, I rested upon my knees and took the bears into my palms. They were clammy and vaguely sticky to the touch. My brow furrowed, I scowled at the bear corpses in befuddled fury. Bears are mean't to be furry! I fumed. I slashed my arm in a vicious arc, striking the bears into a nearby recycling bin, which was irresponsible but I cared nought for responsibility in my boggled state. I had been tricked by WITCHCRAFT! I had had my heartstrings yanked and noodled by a collection of discarded gelatine bears. I curled the digits of my hands into frustrated fists, my chin dropped to my chest and I scowled gloomily at the ground. With my irate visage clouded in darkness, I screamed to the underworld:

"I WILL NEVER CARE AGAIN!"

And I never did.

*****

Heartwarming/heartbreaking/heartattacking stuff I think you'll agree.

@adamgilder

www.theacre.net