Friday, November 10, 2006


Everybody now has their own vaults in their backyards. Nobody planned it that way, they all thought one bank in the town was enough. It had a strong enough safe made of steel and glass, which could hold all valuable things, from a couple's first love to a child's sense of innocence. With friendly tellers who didn't judge you for depositing your lust, and new account managers who never pushed you to place your compulsions and addictions in obsessive checking, the enterprise seemed like it was doomed to succeed. Except, a little girl went looking for her feelings of joy and happiness that had escaped its collar and forgot where its home was. Searching in the vault, she was locked in after closing time, when dreams put on their suits and ties for the work night and nightmares grumble about their commute while pouring scalding coffee down their shirts. The ghost detectives looked for her in the graveyard, in the swamp, in the creepy man's house, but she never showed up in their life detectors. It's only when the combinations were dialed that the bank president gasped, and the policemen took away the crying employees to the angryhouse to be fitted for nooses, and the sadnesshome to sit in chairs, look at flies buzzing on their fingers, then look away into the gloom.


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