No longer held captive by a lack of access to the Internet,
Doris once more transformed her essays into book-length projects. Though she
remained confused about the fact that her hamlet was currently housing two
recently hatched chimerae and that one such itty-bitty, reptilian creature,
complete with multiple heads, had been responsible for rescuing her from
intellectual famine, Doris compartmentalized her knowledge, choosing, instead,
to focus her energies on rhetorically touching the world.
Doris mailed many words to her editors, counting the weeks until
royalties from those publications would show up in her Pay Pal account. She
worked frenetically, appreciating how imperative it was for her to devote her
attention to those linguistic bites before she gave birth.
Mom, on the other hand, fumed and fused as though Doris were the
beast. The night before, she had attempted to enter the nest, to which she had
banished Doris, via a misshaped coat hanger. Doris, having anticipated
Moms intrusion, had blocked the channel on her rooms lock with a
bent hair pin.
Whereas the guest bedroom in their home featured an en suite
bathroom, Mom remained uncertain as to how her daughter was receiving
nutrients; she had forgotten that take out could be both ordered and paid for
via the web.
Moms upset was based on two Doris pregnancy and
Wilson's irresponsibility. It was bad enough that Mom had to resort to the
big girl department in stores and that she had to sit through
countless of Hichkins therapy sessions in a bid to cast off her obesity.
Now her daughter, too, had become a rotund woman.
As for Wilson, that piece of work was an idiot, a dork, a
dumbbell, and a pure boob.
He entirely missed that fact that her precious Doris was a
skinny girl whose only round feature was a pregnancy-induced billow. That fool
seemed oblivious to Doris dainty derriere and tiny shoulders, electing
not to spend his time with the mother of his child, but with Beatrice, a
bumpkin whose body was all girth from ribs to pubis.
It was a pity that the gun had backfired, literally, dirtying
Moms face rather than making an end of the father of Doris unborn.
Perhaps arsenic or some other compound could serve instead. Mom felt remiss
that she had not fully matriculated from high school, but forgave herself since
chemistry had seemed so scary at the time.
Elsewhere, Charles, too, was learning that commitment to goals
means strange effort. That young monster felt incapacitated. He suffered from
an egodystonic state, because of the tortures applied to him by Hichkins and
Hichkins son, Wilson. All that the chimera wanted to do was to bemoan his
lost tree-top kingdom. A mere hatchling, he possessed no inkling that acrimony
can supersede peace or that soul cleansing meant righting internal
His present status, locked in Wilsons hamsters cage,
prevented Charles from gamboling among gardens ornamental swamp grass and
from gliding through neighborhood arboreal canopies. Hence, the beast lost
himself to reveries about the deeds he had committed from his throne of twisted
Although the little beast could view, through Hichkins
tinted windows, bar-be-ques, camp fires, and cigarette butts, he refused to
flame. Insisted he spun and spun again his mental tapes of those weeks when he
had lorded over all of the sparrows, warblers, and titmice, except for those he
had deigned to eat.
Jessica tsk-tsked her clutchmates indiscretions. It was
not seemly for Charles to maintain a highly dissonant frame of mind. Ever since
Hichkins had forced her sibling to differentiate among internally arising
sensations and externally-sources ones, Charles essence had become rotten
with funk. No human had the right to sully the sacrosanct subjectivities of the
The scientists less-than-benevolent imprisonment of the
creatures, in addition to his ludicrous attempts to brainwash them, in discord
with his sons physical assault, verbal harassment, and other coercions,
made Jessica mad. The scientist was infuriating in his stupidity of execution;
the youth was beyond exasperating in his cluelessness about his social
Jessica intended no repeated, aggressive behavior toward
Hichkins. After reading his books on scaphism, son awing, and on flaying, she
realized those arts were beyond her means; she would have to slowly slice him,
instead. As for his scion Wilson, however, she meant to eat him for lunch.