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The Tale of Lemonman

Uploaded by randomology on Dec 15, 1999

Lemonman wondered about the injustices of the world. He liked to think of these things. It made him happy. He sat on a bed of nailed broken polystyrene. He knew the fumes would only make him sick, but still he sat and pondered. Mincing, almost. His brain was too full of potent imagery to be mincing, Mincing being, as I understand it - to be doing nothing. These injustices made him depressed but by wondering on them, he found it gave him a reason. He felt bored and lay down. The polystyrene crunched under his weight. He lay and gazed at the sky, a dark green sky. Between the clouds he saw spots of yellow - the sulphur in his coffee had started to work. Lemonman leant accross, over his clothes to grab the knife that lay by his book on nodules. Taking the knife in one hand he drew a strip down his leg, creating a red stripe in the fatty flesh of his thigh. He always felt clean when blood letting and this was no exception. He felt fresh and new like the breeze had suddenly grown warm and enveloped him in it's misty aroma. He rubbed the open wound, then washed his hands in the bowl of cold water by his bed. He stood up, the thin blood leaked onto his foot and soaked into the crushed polystyrene floor. A beating at the wall let him know Donald was back from the surgeon. His head probably bound and wrapped. Oh the injustice. Lemonman rubbed the back of his neck and made his way to the small chair in the corner. He sat down and observed the patches of red marking the floor. The bowl of water now pink and bitty. He pressed the buzzer. "What?" said the speaker. "I want some food." said he "What?" repeated the speaker. "Potatoes. Salted ones and some gravy too." "Wait.". The speaker fizzed and died. A beating at the wall let him know Donald was not feeling better after being to the surgeon. The crack of the door-box opening echoed round the small cell. Lemonman swung open the panel and took the plate. On it were 3 roast potatoes in gravy. "Thank you." he said DOnald's moaning and banging grew more frequent. He sat qiuetly wondering and slowly squeezed the crunchy potatoes until the soft white middles squidged out into the warm gravy. He took his fork from his bedside draw and began to...

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Uploaded by:   randomology

Date:   12/15/1999

Category:   Creative Writing

Length:   4 pages (926 words)

Views:   1102

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