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Something a little different from my usual output, a piece of very short fiction. Enjoy…

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An Encomion.

“It was there in Neil Sedaka’s bathroom I took my first trip of the day…

He did not know I was in the house, but soon he would. What was to follow would never make it to court, but there, within those events a terrible outrage would occur. It would be a moment of fracture, of lost control…
The day the birds asked for more rain, regretting flight.

Two men, one on acid, both insane…
Strange ceramic echoes of harsh talk and even meaner gestures flicker against the tiles…

What was that ? ‘Only good men grow a moustache ?’
What about Hitler ? I thought…

Must focus on the facts.

I had recently read about a primitive culture who take out their weak, and behind some august rock, pulverise them until dead.
There is never a scream; the victims accept their fate…
But I had agreed to no such deal.
Where had Neil gone?
Perhaps they had taken him ?

Cruel thoughts of an ageing songster being beaten to a pulp by very short men somewhere in the jungle, issued forth…

But we were not in the jungle. We were in hell’s waiting room. An elaborate clean hotel housing all our worst natures, just hanging around until they found us a room.”

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Alternate last section:

But we were not in the jungle. We were in the waiting room of a doctors office on our way to a hotel housing all mankind’s worser natures; the syndicated press conference on journalism and ethics.