Man In Castle-About-Which-The-World-Rotates Becomes Sickly

Dernberger Spengleton,
Tender to the Grand Conveyor

I found him in the same spot I had found him during my prior few visits, a trot west of Amherst Center and a ways past the cinema. Perhaps you know the direction. It was strange to find the four-wheeled castle in a repeated place, considering it is nearly always barrelling around town causing destruction — or, as he would describe it, “being delivered to by the Grand Conveyor.”

It took four separate knocking patterns distributed over nearly forty minutes before I discovered the knocking pattern and location in time destined to awake the man.

“Hold it,” he grumbled, “I’ll be there soon enough.”

He lacked his usual enthusiasm for deliveries. This was strange considering the draught of visits he’d described to me recently. I would have expected him to be excited.

When he finally peered from his mail slot, I saw pale skin and bloodshot eyes. I heard the sticky vibrations of mucus-coated vocal cords. The man, my friend, Theodore, emerged from slumber as a coughing grump.

“What are you doing here, Dernberger?” he asked nastily. “I hope, for once in a million turns, that you do have something good for me?”

Suddenly he erupted into a coughing fit which settled only after a sneeze which spewed through the mail slot into my face.

After wiping his snot from my face, I thought to pull something interesting from my hat to share with him, but I changed my mind when rudely interrupted me again

“And why didn’t you bring your pretty lady friend? At least she understood me and was kind to my eyes as well. You should have brought her..”

I told him, “I just came to check on you is all. You do not seem well.”

“I’m not!” he snapped. “And you won’t be well either if you keep coming around here. Get out of here, Dooshbagger Fingerfucker. Leave me alone in this terrible rotation draught. Let me starve in all ways if you have nothing for me or can do nothing for me. Let my story dry up. Let me dry up. Fine.”

He slammed shut the mail slot. I opened it against his protest, only long enough to insert the sandwich my life partner had made for him. Then I left without saying goodbye.

It is sad how sickness permeates one’s nature…

For more articles by Dernberger Spengleton, click here. To get in touch with this writer, email spengleton@surrealtimes.net.

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