My Name is Mr. Terrible And I Just Like to Sneak Around
Artist's depiction of Mr. Terrible by Marina Parella. For more information on Mr. Terrible, see Young Voices in Surrealist Journalism Presents:
Under the watchful eyes of our venerable benefactor John “Daddy” Terrible’s gracious “insight” and care for the future of surreal journalism, The Surreal Times Editorial Staff present the first issue of Young Voices in Surrealism -- a piece of journalism by his son, Mr. Terrible.
Mr. Terrible likes to slip and trip. He slips and trips like shadows drenched in the milk. His sticky blistered fingers stick to the ground. Mr. Terrible doesn't like the chain. It's not very nice. Neither do my hands; they are very nice.
Mr. Terrible slipped out the door like a shadow-drenched in milk, every night slipping out. Don't tell the chain -- it will be our little secret. Mr. Terrible likes secrets. He's good at keeping them. They are his and no one else can have them. My hands and I and my feet all pull my tail along the street. We all slipped through the street like shadows drenched in milk. Noises, Mr. Terrible like noises. He was crawling up the sides of buildings like spiders in webs, who pleasantly pluck them like piano strings. They were making noises, so Mr. Terrible crawled in the window and nosed.
Two people are sitting in chairs. Mr. Terrible doesn't like chairs. They talk about something over Mr. Terrible’s head. There's one man sitting in a small chair who looks like he's missing a big chair, called Mr. Small-Chair-Big-Tears. Across the room is a man in a big chair with small tears.
Mr. Small-Chair-Big-Tears had a big mustache and a tiny hat. He talks about how he lies. Mr.Terrible doesn't mind lies. Mr. Terrible lies around a lot. Mr terrible just sucks on his tail, waiting for the moon to find the sun. Then, like shadows drenched in milk, he slips away.
Mr. Small-Chair-Big-Tears said he lies because “people can believe what they want, and if they fly away on his lies and feel better it makes it okay.” He says it gives “something to people who have nothing.” Mr. Terrible doesn't know about that, but Mr. Terrible can see that Mr. Big-Chair-Small-Tears doesn't like it at all. All it gives him is a big fat frown.
Mr. Big-Chair-Small-Tears says “it's wrong to lie and you have to go inside ‘them’ somehow.” Mr. Terrible doesn't like when people go inside. Sometimes Mr. Terrible hears tiny voices from deep down inside him tripping in his squishy little soul, but Mr. Terrible just drinks some milk and washes them away.
Mr. Big-Chair-Small-Tears sat in his big chair and says “it's their job to go down there and help people find themselves” and “lying just dances around the problem”, and “What would you if a lie pops a balloon? Who's going to catch them? Bang how many lies will it take to make them fly back up?” This makes Mr. Small-Chair-Big-Tears mad, and he yells about Kathy. Mr. Terrible knows Kathy, and doesn't like yelling so much, so Mr. terrible stopped listening.
Mr. Terrible went away. Kathy is friends with Mr. Terrible. She said, “Her head is too big and it echos.” Kathy’s says the voices aren't hers. She said Mr. Small-Chair-Big-Tears Told her it's just her conscience and to only listen to the voices if she feels they're right. Then Kathy and Mr. Terrible went to the park. But Kathy and Mr. Terrible don't go to the park anymore, she slipped away like shadows drenched in milk. Mr. Big-Chair-Small-Tears said that Mr. Small-Chair-Big-Tears was wrong. Now Kathy is back in the big house with the soft pillows and cold metal windows through who you can only see yourself.
Mr. Terrible hasn't seen Kathy in a while, but he still remembers Mr. Small-Chair-Big-Tears yelling: “I'm done with this, I'm done with all of you, I've cracked, I’ve spent my time running through minds that were running so fast, you did it, I've finally cracked!” Mr. Small-Chair-Big-Tears says he's going to be a like a ventriloquist, Mr. Terrible like puppets. Mr. Small-Chair-Big-Tears says “I'll take little things that can't move and help them say their sweet stories, from now on save my empathy for the inanimate ones” Then he says he'll be happy, and then he said he'd have found himself.
Mr. Terrible doesn't know about that. Mr. Terrible just writes things down. Mr. Terrible slips away like shadows drenched in milk, back down to the chain he doesn't like, but that he does not want to forsake. Mr. Terrible can feel the sun is coming out soon, and Daddy Terrible won't like it when he wakes up and the chain isn't watching. Mr. Terrible still does not like the chain in the basement, but why should it get yelled at? Mr. Terrible doesn't like yelling so much.
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