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The Sumptuous Cave
Libre Libraire
(Ficto Prima: Microbiotics)
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"God's Perfect Child": WordArt

When I was first diagnosed as near-sighted, following a grade school teacher's strict remonstration that she couldn't move me any closer to the blackboard in class seating so that I could decipher definitively her chauk etchings of mathematical absolutes to be understood and memorized for the fate of the nation hanging from those sacred tables, my grandmother was in turn unbelieving, indignant and restrainedly angry that any would dare to intimate a flaw or failing in God's Perfect Child.

Boston opthamalogist after opthamologist dismissed as blasphemously wrong, she finally acceded grimly an unfortunate condition in me not previously apparent within our W.A.S.P kin group as if it were God's own heresy, Lucifer's errantly inexplicable manifestation, a horrifying fall from grace and divine embrace, a blight on family lineage on a par with the horrors of hemophilia. Whether this pimple of dirty laundry in the bloodline could be publically divulged in polite company was a matter of critical consideration and consultation. Eye glasses from the distastefully abhored and disdained specialist would be an unmistakeable clue. In alarmed self-defense, he suggested the new-fangled contact lenses recently developed be explored as an alternative.

Nana acquiesced but my large eyes, unusually open, did not as those hardily skilled and educated specialists in their comfortably elegant urban offices finally gave up bravely heroic quest for the grail and the sword my grandmother demanded. Camelot would wait.

Nothing else was ever unkempt or disordered in our assistively-enabled homes and lives. Except the evil basement with its secretedly separate indoor and outdoor entries, and its intermittently sudden puddles of satanic slime oozing up into the vacuous gloom through concrete crevices from the fiery core of doomed and damned earth.





~276 words 1793 characters












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