Dr Jew

being it and take off the appearances. It's been here inside me! All this time! Why was I so afraid to let it out? What kept me so hidden?"
    "Do you really need something to blame?"
    "No, no, you are right, Robot Raccoon. There I go again. Old habits, so hard to break."
    "I know."
    "So what do I do now? A simple question, rhetorical, yes, in my more sedately stuffed days. My gift for poesy has been spirited away… or put to rest. I slumber and sleepwalk, but I still want to awaken."
    "Though you still use words as a shield."
    I glared at him. I glared at the feelings he brought up inside me.
    "You begin to annoy me with your armchair mannerisms," I said.
    "At least that feeling is authentic."
    And I could see again that I was trapped in words that sidestepped the true purpose, the point. What is the point? What is man? In his alcoholic stumbling and postured avuncular farces and self-trickeries… what is man?
    "I think you can leave, Robot."
    "Good, good, keep it coming."
    To defend myself, to argue with him, was to buy into another reality that I found despicable, tasteless, aesthetically revolting. To even acknowledge it was to allow its bleedover through empathy, a projection from dimmer dimensions. Best to remove it from the environment entirely through another medium altogether.
    "I will say no more," I said to the air, lacking eye contact.
    In my trouser pocket I rummaged and found the little beastie I was after, smoothed from use and the shape of my thumb. Did I hesitate? I did not. And who is to say if it even worked?
    I pressed the button and the wind acknowledged it not. My aged ear acknowledged it not.
    I looked up and there was silence in my vision as well. Robot Raccoon was nowhere to be seen. I forced a light laugh on myself and blew my nose. It was growing chill.
    I rose and gathered my coat about me, the dark moonless sky leaving no shadows in its wake. I walked to my hotel, whistling "Good Morning Little Schoolgirl," and hoped to be a better father to this world.

    THE END