For Rent

You start by going inside your head.

  

It’s a very small room. Four walls, a bed, and a desk. The curtains are drawn and the table seems like its seen better days. A thick layer of dust settles on top of it, and as your fingers swipe across its length, little flakes wake in astonishment at having somebody else there. You start making your way to the bed, but someone knocks at the door. 

 

 “Are you the writer?” the man has a patch covering his left eye. His angular face is strained with worry. A small hound sits by his side. 

 

 “I’m the landlord. Did you come to see the room?” the dog starts sniffing at your bare feet. Its presence makes you nervous; you didn’t have something like this in mind. 

 

 A slight movement draws your attention. There are words hanging in the air somewhere to his right, but every time your eyes move in their direction, the words shift and slip to the periphery. The man cracks a smile at your predicament. 

 

 “The words are on the loose,” he says, “you do need to lease this room.” 

You step back and let them inside. The man carries a small compass, and begins to wander around. Trails of words follow him, but you can’t make them out.  

 

 “The more you look, the less you see.” He stops and checks his compass. Then he bends down and crawls under the bed. The dog barks, but it seems to come from far away. A loud noise is heard. Then silence. Now the sound of water begins building up until it comes pouring out of the floor. In this moment, a stream of words comes rushing out in your direction.

 “Stop!!! Stop!!”

 

 The door is kicked open, and three policemen enter the room. They run in while blowing their whistles and dive under the bed. 

 

 “Catch it!!! Now!” the explorer gives you a net, and begins to swipe his in the air. The dog barks and bites at some of the words, changing their meanings as his fangs tear the letters here and there. The words slap you in the face; they cut and slice your flesh. They fly and hop around with no care.

 

 The three policemen try to grab at some of them. The short one tries to use his whistle, while the burly one swings his club around. The third, lanky one, writes his report down.

 

 Three hours later and the room is upside down. The desk has fallen over with the weight of so many abstract words. Beside it, the explorer and his dog lie exhausted on the floor. He grabs the letter “I” and gives it to the dog as a chewing bone.

 “Did you get to catch the story?” the explorer asks. The three policemen sit in a row, as they check for reason within all this smog. You start to smoke.

 “It must have flown past us”, you take a drag and hold it down, then glance around at all the unconscious letters lying around. The explorer checks his compass as the white noise fills your lungs.

 “I’ll take the room”, he says.

 The dog gnaws a shapeless bone.