A man stood on a hill. He looked up at the stars and tried to remember what on earth he was doing here. Why had he climbed this hill. This often happened to him when going from the living room to the kitchen, but this was the first time it happened at the top of a big hill. It was a big hill, he was out of breath. Perhaps, he reflected, this was not the first time it had happened. After all, his memory was evidently less than reliable. There was no fridge at the top of the hill, so he did not think he had come to get something out of it. There was no kettle to put on and nothing on which to put it. It seemed increasingly unlikely that applying the insights of his previous kitchen based amnesia was going to help here. Although, now that he thought about it, he could do with a cup of tea and maybe some toast.

The man thought he had better sit down and think things through. There was a seat – a bench. His kitchen would have been much better, he was tired. He had just walked several miles. In the rain and mostly uphill. He sat for a long time. He soon forgot about his forgetfulness. He was not thinking of very much instead. Sometimes he prayed. By the time he stood up he had come to a conclusion. It was time to stop taking his medication.

About caspar

Caspar is just one monkey among billions. Battering his keyboard without expectations even of peanuts, let alone of aping the Immortal Bard. By day he is an infantologist at Birkbeck Babylab, by night he runs
This entry was posted in words. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *