boy and toasterBy Blossom Hibbert
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boy says the connections are beginning to falter, says there is water in the cables. he is … beginning … lose … connecting words. no one really knows if what he says is true or if he is a maniac in disguise of a
young boy on a tall timber mission. boy wants to connect words back together again so theynevertakeabreak. says when i am older i will plant a tall timber flower (sunflower). he says i will plant it when i am old and tall and wise. i will plant it when i am stretched so it will never grow taller than me. says he cannot do the washing up anymore for his hands are raw from spending days planting pretend sun flowers. never actually puts a seed into the supple skin of the earth. he is just creating holes for encouragement, waiting for …? there are tiny little earth pockets ready to trip ankles up, hidden in the floorboards. they are connected by the fingers that dug them. take things step by (solemn) step … boy says he doesn’t believe in a lord as such, more so some kind of language that only he can speak that has not been invented yet. A language he found in the dictionary at the back of the cupboard. boy could not stand to see a sun flower taller than him, knows it would make him into a tumble dried man. would it change things if the maniac had a moustache and a tooth that stuck out like a car crash ? paired nicely with an open blue shirt ? well what if it was all unbuttoned because he lost all the little … claims they fell out naturally like teeth in the elderly. do you believe him ? what if he ripped them out one by one because he liked the way it felt in his fingers. tore thread out like ligaments in fingers, enjoyed hearing the buttons cry out in pain… took pleasure from the snapping of muscle and tendon and all the juicy good stuff. connections splintered in his palm like a crushedeggshell, making his soft boy skin bleed. boy squishes his eye with the knuckle of his right index finger till the world blurs and he percieves splotchy deficits all over - as if everything that made sense lay in the connections. well what if … remove … allthethingsthatconnect and you are just left with the skeleton pieces? picture a rigid angry frown man without his sloppy joints (vanish) how would he sit, how would he bend to kiss his son? boy wishes to be empty so he can finally receive says he will only take-take-take once he is void of everything, says he craves an outsider. he wants to write poetry for the construction workers. they are all too busy tap tap tapping their hammers to read it. boy asks them to connect the dots (inside the poem), boy whispers his poem out loud (for the builder’s ears) connect connect connect ? suggest direct infect ! wept dept shmept ? boy wants to wear the day first, to try it on. says let me try today on so i know it fits right and then i’ll feel better about buying it. what if it’s the wrong size or the sleeves are too tight or worse… what if it has no buttons to rip off? just then, as he is asking to try the day on he gets stopped by the toaster it asks are you having a wonderful morning, are you having a glorious time - just like me? have you planted the sunflower yet, is it as tall as a tree? why are you limping? have you lost the seasponge between your knees, or have the channels in your mind become clogged with chewing gum? why do you limp? boy is self conscious about his professional limp and turns the toaster off. he says nothing. but fiddles with his …. space where a button usually belongs. it is like being able to touch the gap between teeth. he says have you ever tried to suck the water out of a tree trunk? it is the most painful thing a tree can imagine. it is … someone moving into your skin with a large bore catheter and taking all your bone marrow away. pain makes you salivate like a feral dog. boy says well did you hear me hello… no one replies but the universe is expanding. the boy can … it. connections crackle like bubblewrap beneath his toes. boy switches toaster off in an act of malicious rage against the mute creature in the kitchen. boy says well you cant even blow birthday candles out you stupid thing you. the switch on the wall makes an echoing ‘ click ’ he fiddles with the space in time, twisting it to his liking. if the toaster were awake, he would watch the boy take a tiny speckled grey button out of his breast pocket and swallow it down hard and tough like a vitamin pill. but the toaster was off (because the boy felt self conscious about his limp). there is no one to witness this act of disgraceful… boy says autonomy is worth the wait, even with all this button eating business. says have you toasted the sunflower seeds for the wake yet? says it is important and must be done today. toaster doesn’t reply, of course. the universe is ever expanding but he does not blink. not once. boy does not understand… how can a universe expand and the toaster remain the same size. how can connections cease to exist… where does the energy go? when you cut cables well the energy is still stored either end it surely must swell up like a water ballon and eventually burst, no? and when it rains does it rain in the expanded parts too, or just the original bits? is the desert just the enlarged parts of universe the rainclouds forgot about? the boy thinks about this, with his mouth on the side of his face - and his eyebrows up up up. he walks back and forth across the wooden panels of the kitchen floor, he takes pacing very seriously as if this ritual is what seperates him from the others. it is foot down… drag… foot down. boy says well, at least i can pace backward and forward i have this to my name and what do you have? says he is the boy-pacer with apertures for buttons and no one can take his bad feet or his shirt pocket away from him. he soon gets lonely, desolote… creep into his chest it pushes his ribcage together squish squash… a pistachio shell in an old mans wrinkly thumb and forefinger. the boy doesn’t like this feeling so turns the toaster back on. says have you heard the weather forecast have you had a shower have you cleaned your teeth yet, do you feel refreshed? said mornings are the most refreshing wouldn’t you agree friend? toaster doesn’t reply. toaster is angry for the unforgiving attitude of the boy-pacer, knows the silent treatment is the most effective one of all. boy doesn’t mind, boy can just stitch a button into his skin and talk to that. he…. boy has lost the connection between mind and the space his physical body occupies. he is in a desert in a graveyard inside his mothers womb. the wires are not only broken they were never together in the first place. boy says connections are for the older people. the older people do not exist, they got lost in the static noise of the radio. the radio is only an eyeball in a room, sucking everything up like an enormous microphone in a splitting orchestra. boy says i am having a bad day perhaps i will take myself to the bookstore and buy myself … says he will find the right one by smelling between all the pages till he finds the perfect words in correct orders. says what do you think about that then, toaster? ey? boy has earnest expression, big-eyed boy craves honesty. toaster says ? nothing but eyes up the chain between the stove and the … that allows him to pace but not leave. he has a bad foot that drags it goes foot down… drag…. foot down. boy feels shame in his feet so kicks at them furiously with a hard brown boot that isnt ... it is a stand off between boy and toaster they are two western cowboys in a dusty shootout but guns are the silence that is thick in space a yellow bruise. if silence are the guns then what are they going to use as bullets? the bullets could be the words, or they could be tiny hard buttons getting shot into soft skin. anything can be dangerous if sent at high enough velocity with a … violent enough mind to imagine wrong doings like this. no one is winning the shootout they are facing eachother but refusing to do anything about it. have a button shot through heart chambers - it gets stuck in the atria - heart pump pump pumps but clogged by button - heart says night night, young one – heart stops - it pushes the brakes down hard and fast – boy doesn’t need heart – boy says he doesn’t need anyone. says he has lost the crunchy connections so what is the … he wants to suck all the water out the toaster, says it will be painful but for his own good. boy wants to toast his buttons till they burn and it sets the fire alarm off. says the fire alarm is like applause for him, applause for all his pacing back and forth. the toaster says nothing. the boy says nothing. the universe carries on breaking connections. the boy counts all the buttons in his pocket, swallows them all with a swig of morning cognac. he limps back and forth a bit. the toaster winces at the chain rattling, but says nothing. boy number one…. passes out on the floor. …… ….. /// ;;;;; no one says anything. the universe carries on expanding. a sunflower is growing taller than a house in the garden. buttons rattle around the washing machine. …///// ))))) ---- …. ////””””” somewhere, someone sneezes. conections rattle like … in a glass jar. boy can hear it in his sleep. his hand reaches for the light switch unconsciously. toaster pulls the plug on … boy …. ///…. ….. /// -__---__ {{{{ /// //////// -- ……..]]] ;;;;; && …. “””” //^^^^^ …. }}}}}} “””” ….. //// …. ;; …. all connections are …. duly … //// lost.  Blossom Hibbert, Nottingham UK, spends most of her evenings reading and writing in pubs around the city, or drinking too much coffee. Writing weird prose about anything that catches her eye, focusing more on the poetry and short fiction than anything longer. She spends her weekends exploring the British countryside and sitting by river banks, trying to find inspiration in the monotony of it all! Instagram: blossomhibbert
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