Pass the Parcel

A formidable sight, four human beings, or should I say moderately well defined apparitions, seated in an awfully perfect circle, passing a parcel. Too used am I to perfection interrupting imperfection. Yet it is no ordinary parcel, for in that case we could do well to assume its contents, which tend not to stray away from a standard range of possibilites. It is in fact neither too heavy nor too light, neither too presentable nor too shabby. Neither this nor that, that nor this, an affirmation that ignorance is bliss. Yet they pass it around discontentedly, accompanied by a phantom rhythm in the depth of their minds. Perhaps they too struggle to situate themselves in niether-noredness.

Come, boy, feel the delightful smoothness of the box! And someday when you have grown up you will fondly recall the texture of boxes, God forbid that you should find yourself within one. Is that a look of curiosity? Would a ton of preservatives shower upon your soul, for I guarantee you cannot bear the pain of faded inquisitiveness. But please stop, and pass it on, the parcel is something you are not prepared to wait upon

Toss it over to the lunatic, mushy lipstick glossed over unkempt lips, shreds of rotten breakfast littered over obscene hips. He would most rather continue waltzing with his teddy bear, than bother with the cumbersome parcel. Bright shades of purple once ignited luminosity in his eyes, but now, no more wonder, no more surprise.

Look at yourself, figure of absolute orthodoxy! Insulated from ear-piercing jeers by whiteness, from top to bottom. Twiddle with steel balls of composure in your sweatless palm, contemplate blankness with your condescending calm. Never can someone within tincture something without. Pass it on, capitulate without so much of a shout.

Onto me! Onto me! With trembling hands I strip the intricate ribbons away, still the rhythm pounds my sanity to the ground. Lost visions of rapidly cascading reality flash past me, torrential rainstorms of tea and coffee and all my cherished fluids muster into sea. Talk is too cheap, whoever looks before he leaps? And amidst the wild cheers from the appreciably small audience, I plunged into the parcel.