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fyn gula
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"why is this page empty?" copello asked the old woman, pointing to it. his finger was shaking and he was beginning to feel a queasiness in the pit of his stomach, and it was not from hunger.
"there are many theories why the page is blank," the old woman said, spraying some nasty perfume on herself made from garlic and dead skunk. she gave copello another piece of shutter and he opened his mouth like a baby bird, taking it as a dog willingly takes a bisquit. it tasted like cigarettes dipped in honey and somehow this was good to him.
"well, my theory is that i should draw something here myself," copello said, and if someone heard him speak, they would pity him and thank God they were not like him because he sounded like a fucking, drunken idiot.
the old woman said she'd be right back, that she would go and get him some crayons and while she was gone, copello puked three times. he felt like shit. so he stood up, teetered like a toy soldier that can't move its feet and tore off his own piece of shutter form around the front window. a licorice flower came with it from the window box. seconds later, he fell down the stone steps and gashed his face just below the eye.
"mother fuck!" he yelled out in pain, and the blood ran slowly into the corner of his mouth. he took a handerchief out of his pocket that had a ball tied at the end. he used it when he was around children to pretend he was blowing his nose and then it would bounce. it always made them laugh.
and so, he cleaned up his cut and by the time the old woman came back with the crayons, copello figured she couldn't even tell anything happened. but what he didn't know was she whad been watching from the window, saw the whole thing, and wrote in the assignment paper work that nylem required and provided for:
"414 pm copello pukes 3 times.
falls down. cuts face." she smiled like a proud, little girl, so fucking happy with herself.
she came back and handed the crayons to copello.
"you know," she said, noticing he was looking extremely pale. "this blank page is definately open to new interpretations. old school says it represents nabiscus as L. frAnk baum, the author of the original story, wizard of oz. or actually any writer, even blatherskites." and it was here where she was referring to that indigo world where a select few went to pour forth the contnts of their soul with absolute freedom.
"a blank page for new words to be written?" copello asked, and he felt another puking session approaching from the nauseous pit of his troubled belly.
"exactly." the old woman said, and squirted the nasty perfume again, hoping it would encourage his vomiting as it surely did last time.
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