No Number Four

One of the first writings on Harriett and her best friend-anonymous.

No number four. I cannot section myself. I just have to keep going.  Are you looking at me? Not that pencil on your desk. How fascinating is a pencil? What were you thinking about when you were staring at that pencil? You are so dishonest. Harriett talks to me like I am Jesus. She prays and confesses and tells. She spins wheels of good and evil. She contains no evil, but she weaves it for herself like a cocoon. I have the characteristics of Jesus, but I do not use them for life. He was a revolutionary. I am a repressed revolutionary. Are repressed revolutionaries inspiring Harriett? Harriett said no. Then why do you treat me like Jesus? Because you remind me of him a lot. How could that be. A fragmented sentence just projected out of me. I suppose I should say that she told Jesus many tales. Her mother was silent like my mother. She hated her for her silence. Figuratively she was silent. Folks can be loud and silent at the same time. Every word her mother spoke was a vessel. This vessel would percolate within Harriett. It would become louder inside Harriett. I used to see blood in her ears and wonder where it came from. Harriett said the blood just kept coming: she would keep talking as if it were not spilling.  Her mother had a handicapped imagination. This disorder ostracized Harriett from the womb. Her mother would go on vacations for a long time. Harriett found her master when her mother went on these sojourns; he has been with her ever since the first one. The first was the longest; the rest were endured at shorter intervals.

  When Harriett was finished speaking at Jesus she would reach into her bag for a new face. Dolls can do that. Abrupt ability. Just like this story. Abrupt. It contains abruptability. How the colors would turn. I saw them brighten just a bit too much. This was when she told me how bad I was (and still am). When her comprehension fails the colors go everywhere like the snow. There is no interception and no clarity. She told me that people are vacuums with squamous organs inside. I had no organs. I was just a vacuum cleaner. I sucked up dirt, but I could not digest it. I spewed it all over the rugs and the furniture.

Author's Note

Please take the time and review, honestly. This is number one in a series about a young lady and her best friend, a doll, named Harriett.

Reviews

[Dane Osborne]

Fascinating and enjoyably bizzare.

She told me that people are vacuums with squamous organs inside.
That was a great line.

To me this seemed like kind of a meditation on the inner struggle in ourselves between weakness and virtue. How we strive to be so good and so pure but yet our intentions can often crash into the ground when we realize just how limited we are by our nature. I love your work:)

[Marie Anzalone]

I am reminded of a review someone wrote of Anton Chigurh's character in "No Country for Old Men," when the reviewer talked about him being "slightly left of human." This strikes me the same way.. slightly off center of human, like the rambling of a schizophrenic. The logic leaps are fascinating and the story is interesting enough to make me wonder who Harriet is and where this is going. This is sgtream-of-consciuosness at its best. Loved it!

[J.Black]

F**k. You write about such strange, odd things. So odd I find it intriguing and something I would read- but never dare to find on this site. I rarely give in depth reviews- unless I fully enjoyed a piece or struck an interest I've read a book about a girl and a doll her mother gave to her. In the story there was also a boy and his doll. The book was called: "Doll" by Nicky Singer.. I HIGHLY suggest you give it a read. I'm sure you'll love it. Although not as in depth with religious themes, it's still a similar read. "There are things which are true- and then there are stories".. it's all about what you choose to believe.

There's something about the way you write. I wish I had the balls to post up my stories or books on this site but I dont only because it's more of a poetry site and no one will take the time to read something that is long. You create true feelings, no stories. I love it.

[Boo Radley]

After reading several of your pieces, all I can say is your writing is very powerful, and very effecting on all levels. This story had an almost sublime effect on me. I loved it.