donatio mortis causa

frying pans, aeons & a mouse

…or how to be happy in just 10 aeons.

The man himself was spread sparse across the frying pan, and lay there helplessly in his own malaise. Oh, well, he agreed (to no one in particular, and no one in particular replied).

The man found his words greasing the floor of the frying pan as he said them. In fact, the frying pan turned out to be far more homely when covered in his own filth, so he continued to talk. He govelled on and on until aeons grazed their knees and had no more knees to graze. Eventually the man ran out of paragraphs and sentences to say and then ran out of words and letters. Oh, no, the man wanted to proclaim to himself, but because he had no words left, he merely thought it.

The man waited and waited for someone to turn the stove on so his words could evaporate and he could start again with new ones. Eventually an elderly woman in a white shawl came walking toward the man enjambed in the frying pan. Help, help, please turn the stove on! But he had wasted all his words, and no sound came out. 

The woman saw this poor man enjambed in the frying pan but because she heard no exchanges at all from him she shut herself in the microwave as planned, and neither of them ever saw each other again, or anyone else, and the kitchen was silent but for the slow demise of an unconceived conversation, and the occasional squeak of a mouse.