Here is another of those two-sentence stories with poetry added. I’m thinking of them as “Minuscule” and quick to read.
Read the first Minuscule, the explanation of why I wrote it and got started on this idea, and search under the category Fiction/Poetry Combination for others in the series.
The therapist had died of old age, gone to heaven, and learned three songs on the harp before the patient finished her description of a blighted childhood and addressed her mayhem-filled teenage years, thought Dr. Harryfall, a simple impatient facetious thought suddenly jet-fueled by a red-hot impatience with people, their problems, and specifically all the drama she had heard in, oh, say the last week, for starters.
Amnesia would be so handy right now, she reflected, not sure whether she meant to administer it to her patient or to herself, when the stream of white noise coming from the woman abruptly changed into a high-pitched staccato screeching – I can’t remember what I was just saying, it’s all dropped right out of my mind, everything’s a blank, I have no idea what I’m doing here, and who are you, get away from me! – and Dr. Harryfall jumped up and stepped over to the patient in what she later thought of as a light bulb moment: today, she had made a true treatment breakthrough.
this brainwave of yours:
the worn cloth
and re-cover the old chair?
Better to buy new.