When one is left to one's own devices, freedom without rules can often have a rather unsavoury effect. The consequences can be catastrophic, but often reversible. The Mind had a flair for the dramatic and a great big playground to explore. What it did to the Subconscious was deplorable. What it did to the Brain was even worse.
Part The Third: Duckling-Spotted Underwear
The pair of stained underpants that lay on the mesh floor of the room of the Subconscious, be-speckled with perpetually cheery ducklings, was an item of great value to the Mind. The underpants had been there through everything; the good, the bad and the just downright wrong. Why the Mind was an androgynous figure with what looked like false "bits" tied on with pieces of yellowing string was a mystery to the Brain. To the duckling-spotted underwear, however, it was a waking nightmare.
The Mind had allowed the underpants a small amount of breathing space, leaving them beneath the steam that issued inexplicably from the floor beneath. The underpants enjoyed the feeling of the steam. I was preferable to touching any part of the Mind's undercarriage.
The Mind was standing against a far wall. Sparks crackled over head as a broken wire swung dangerously close to the cow-lick that crowned the Mind's scalp. There was something stuck in the wall. There was something there that should not have been.
The Mind gazed at it intently for a few moments before grasping it tightly and tugging gently. The jagged-piece-of-something stayed put. The Mind tugged slightly harder. Still, the jagged-piece-of-something would not move. The Mind frowned, It's lips parted in confusion and growing irritation. It began to back away from the wall and the jagged-piece-of-something, crouching and feeling blindly behind It for something to get a better grip with. The Mind's fingers brushed against the small piece of yellow-spotted cotton that was enjoying the steaming breeze...
The duckling-spotted underwear shrieked — or, rather, it would have done, had it had a set of lungs. Torn away from the warm, comfortable, damp and steamy breeze, it found itself being wound around the Mind's stubby fingers. The Mind then clamped those stubby fingers around the jagged-piece-of-something and tugged as hard as It could.
There was the sound of ripping cloth and a loud thunk as the Mind fell back on to the mesh floor. The Mind looked in dismay at the torn fragments of cotton in Its hand and promptly burst into tears.
(Part The Fourth: Revenge Of The Duckling-Spotted Underwear — coming soon!)
(c) 2014 Alexandra Odendaal
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