MERRY FREAKIN’ CHRISTMAS, that’s craaaaaaaazy lookin’! Photo by Mikael Kristenson on Unsplash
One day long ago, a horse I was fond of came to me and bit my arm, breaking the skin.
As blood seeped from the wound I asked, “Why did you bite me.”
The stallion shook its proud head, stamped its powerful hooves, and whinnied, “Because I can, small human.”
I'm just going to write something directly out of my head, so we'll see how it goes. -TCR
I've always liked the name Larry. It feels old without being stuffy, and there's an inherent jocularity about it. When you hear that you'll be meeting with some dude named Larry it instills in you the idea that the interaction won't be dark or heavy. When I walked into the room to meet my particular Larry, however, things didn't go as expected.
My Larry was a woman and anything but jovial.
"Sit," she said, not looking up from her tablet. I sat.
The area around me is dark, but there is enough ambient light to see that there is nothing around me. When I breath out, I can see the vapor. It's cold, but I can't feel it. I touch my left forefinger to my right arm and I can feel the hairs rise to meet the fingertip. I think that means there's a slight static charge in the atmosphere. I can't wrap my mind around the idea that it can be cold enough to see my breath, but not cold enough to discomfort me.
"Hello," I call out in a normal, conversational tone.
There is no echo, but my voice isn't tight and small. I'm in a large, open space. How large is anyone's guess. Well, my guess, at least. Nobody answers. I opt not to try louder for fear... of. I'm not sure. I dwell on that for a moment and realize that I can't think of a single thing that might threaten me. Ever. I start thinking about that point and try to establish some context, but nothing comes to mind. Eventually, it seems pointless to continue dwelling and move on. I haven't moved from the spot I found myself, so I try a tentative step.