Finding Sylvia in the Basement of my Soul

 

It was about 3:15 in the morning and for some ungodly reason I was searching box after box looking for my moral compass. As you know its been missing for quite some time. I looked up just as she struck a match, then lit candle in honor of some obscure saint. She extinguished the flame with a flick of her wrist, giving a gruesome grin, “Sylvia Plath Darling, she extended a hand.

I shook it, then went back to pawing, on the hunt for my compass.

“ O' ignorant Darling. I could eat you up, but I have no appetite for the sickly sweet nor the bluntly bitter after taste which plagues trite little dishes such as yourself. You're never going to find it and I say good riddance.” She bit a hang nail from her index finger, “You know what?”, she spat the trimming to the floor, “I think you have a fever.”

I stopped searching a moment and pressed the back of my hand to my forehead, “You think so?”

She brandished a rectal thermometer from behind her back, “I can't say for certain but we'd better check.”

I was slightly concerned, “Wait...wait a minute what's that beeping?”

“Its nothing Darling. Just the oven preheating now be a good girl and bend over.”