A fragment of ‘Monster’ By S.Y. Eng Glorious Lapis Bourbon. It promises to transform stubborn grey hair into highlighted perfection. I needed it. My ex, eight years younger, took everything we bought together with him. Left his stinking pile of filthy socks and toxic leftovers in the fridge. Oh, but he also gave a parting gift: a mug that says, ‘Being a Woman is a Real Bitch.’ I was fired from the local Love Me Sushi Shack. I got angry at a customer who wanted something that wasn’t on the menu: pizza! I set the oven timer. After thirty minutes, highlighted perfection. My elbow brushed-off some unpaid bills from the kitchen counter where they fluttered onto a small mountain of other unpaid bills on the floor. I was squeezing out the last goop of Glorious Lapis Bourbon when someone pounded on the front door. Shit. Must be the landlord. Ignore him, I said to myself, which I did. The pounding stopped. Quiet. BAM. BAM. BAM. Now it’s at the side window. Maybe it’s not the landlord. I twitch the curtain aside. Just a little. WHEW!! It’s not my landlord, Mr. Slough. It’s his minion, Bosh. Bosh tells me Mr. Slough is a very nice person. He keeps Bosh as his minion in spite of his ‘Restless Anus Syndrome”. I yank the door open. “It’s my DAY OFF!” Bosh smirks. He shrugs. He points to several containers on the ground and says, “Mr. Slough wants it done yesterday, but it’s okay today. He says rent’s due too.” Bosh leaves. Glorious Lapis Bourbon hardens into a helmet on my head. In my pocket goes my face-mask. My rusty car gets the containers. Bosh brags Mr. Slough is a great landlord, and owns a distillery named Slough, and is a grand breeder of old felines. I’m to drive over to a bunch of oak trees and pour and shake whatever it is in the containers. Against the sun’s bright yellow rays, Glorious Lapis Bourbon glows within my hair. You guessed it. Fresh new place. Fresh new job. By the by, don’t feel sorry for Slough’s whisky drinkers.
RUNDELANIA 