Splenetic

A splenetic health message from your spleen:

STOP FEEDING ME SHITE! Every other thing that comes through that big gob of yours contains additives, preservatives, artificial colouring or all three. You think I can filter all that crap? Give me another hundred million years then, maybe. Is it so much to ask for a little brown rice? A few green vegetables? A dash of vinegar once and a while that isn’t slathered on some battered hunk of lard? CAN’T YOU SEE? I’M CRYING OUT FOR VITAMIN B! I’ve tried to warn you! Those swollen dents in the side of your tongue – you think those are normal? The insomnia? The obsessive worry? NO! I’M TRYING TO GET YOUR ATTENTION! And what do you do to thank me? Eat sugar by the bucketful and wash it down with some high-fructose corn syrup. I CAN’T LIVE LIKE THIS ANYMORE! So, I’m only going to say this once: If I don’t see some R-E-S-P-E-C-T coming my way pretty damn quick I’m gonna R-U-P-T-U-R-E all over the place! 

Kelli B. 

***

A sky of lead was stretching heavily over the country. People had stopped hoping for a storm that would never come. The static tension in the air was not making the inhabitants prone to anger; instead, it had numbed them to the point of being splenetic. It had been going on for so long they had to adapt and find joy in frustration. Melancholic people from all over the world were flocking to the island to find a sense of belonging.

I didn't even make it to the promised land. I choked on a mint as my plane dropped in altitude. I never felt so satisfyingly disappointed.

Hélène L.