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Hemipterans

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Hemipterans

Startled awake in the dead of night, I sit up dazed on that rickety bed. The room was dark; my roommate a silhouette on the far cot, there was rain and the weight of the night in the air. And as I turn the lights on I see something I would ever remember in life. My friend, who boasted of the palest of skins, had turned black; there wasn’t spot on his face that wasn’t dark.

He was deep in dreams, and so I didn’t trouble him, but carried my bed outside to be discarded.

In the morning, back to his usual pale skin, he shakes me awake from my slumber on a crumpled spread of news papers on the floor.

Why? he asks

Why what?

The bed. Outside. You. On the floor.

I shudder.

Well, sheik, it wasn’t exactly like this. Yet there was the night and there was the rain……..

Terrible calamities of nature.

And you, with your face the color of pitch.

He bristles.

I am not black, damn it. I am white, but you, you envious dog, are definitely dark. And I won’t take that back.

I wasn’t talking about the color of your pretty skin, you egotistical idiot . Can’t you imagine an event where your hot skin might turn black?

He spent some time in intense rumination.

The dark could do that to me.

Hmm

And my dear sis . She could paint my phiz black.

Ah, the sweetness of a sister’s love.

Love never fails son, love never fails, but why was my face (He lets out an involuntary shudder) black?

Why would you think?

Couldn’t be….. that’s impossible…. bugs?

He shivers.

Would they dare touch you?

Exactly

We both spent the rest of our nights in that lodge on the bare floor and on a bed of newspapers. Those were the only lodgings we could afford on our students stipend.

We are at least making good use of words. He says sometimes

Well, make use of this one then, I would prompt:

Darkness At Mid Night

I am covered on that one pal I didn’t discover them, you did. That’s why we are on a bed of words.

The best bed ever.

Why do they hate the lovely words?

The bugs?

Who else

No idea, may be they are students of Andre Gide or Ivan Illich ?

And who ever those might be?

Distant cousins of Abelard, Peter, I think

Don’t get smart with me, now

Would that add to my smartness?

And so we would drift off to sleep.

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Written by Sam

July 11, 2012 at 1:37 pm

Posted in Life, Life situations

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