Yoki's Message
When I awoke Saturday morning, I was surprised to find shreds of gold rubber scattered about the floor at the foot of my bed. The pieces formed a bit of a trail, much like the one left by Hansel and Gretle in the deep, dark forest; however, this pathway ended at a semi-ciruclar golden arc that was once the bracelet that beckoned "One bracelet to cure them all!" All that remained of my LIVESTRONG bracelet couldn't even form a tag on a chicken foot.
So, I gathered up the pieces, collecting them in the palms of my hands, like pebbles on a beach and sprinkled them into the garbage. Yoki, whose hatred for fundraising gimicks is only surpassed by her dislike of fads, gave me a knowing glance and a wink. "What have you done, my pet?" The words creaked from my mouth as I clicked on her leash. Yoki knew the way, and she led - across the carpet, a 15° turn onto ceramic tiles, down 4 flights of stairs and out into the uncommonly mild February weather.
We walked the block. Yoki tried to explain the history of the neighborhood (who went where and what they had eaten) but the words wouldn't quite come. She pointed out trees, rosebushes, patches of grass and a stop sign, but her general message reduced the impact of her determined passion. I urged her to finish up her business but her silent histories took presidence. With one glance I knew that she couldn't keep this up for long. The dark crease under her tail opened and closed, leaking scented oils. This urgent message would be delivered in due time. Yoki has a pretty good poker face, but her ass betrays her.
Finally, it happened, and like every other time, I bent forward to pick it up for the garbage, except this time something caught my eye. A glimmer of gold amongst the olive loaf caught my attention and as I inspected closer, a message as clear as day appeared, branded into yesterday's meal in golden splendor. "LIVE" and I thought to myself : "Yes. Live."
So, I gathered up the pieces, collecting them in the palms of my hands, like pebbles on a beach and sprinkled them into the garbage. Yoki, whose hatred for fundraising gimicks is only surpassed by her dislike of fads, gave me a knowing glance and a wink. "What have you done, my pet?" The words creaked from my mouth as I clicked on her leash. Yoki knew the way, and she led - across the carpet, a 15° turn onto ceramic tiles, down 4 flights of stairs and out into the uncommonly mild February weather.
We walked the block. Yoki tried to explain the history of the neighborhood (who went where and what they had eaten) but the words wouldn't quite come. She pointed out trees, rosebushes, patches of grass and a stop sign, but her general message reduced the impact of her determined passion. I urged her to finish up her business but her silent histories took presidence. With one glance I knew that she couldn't keep this up for long. The dark crease under her tail opened and closed, leaking scented oils. This urgent message would be delivered in due time. Yoki has a pretty good poker face, but her ass betrays her.
Finally, it happened, and like every other time, I bent forward to pick it up for the garbage, except this time something caught my eye. A glimmer of gold amongst the olive loaf caught my attention and as I inspected closer, a message as clear as day appeared, branded into yesterday's meal in golden splendor. "LIVE" and I thought to myself : "Yes. Live."
posted by Schitzo at
10:08 AM
