ignis fatuus

ig·nis fat·u·us ( P ) Pronunciation Key (gns fch-s)n. pl. ig·nes fat·u·i (gnz fch-)
1. A phosphorescent light that hovers or flits over swampy ground at night, possibly caused by spontaneous combustion of gases emitted by rotting organic matter. Also called friar's lantern, jack-o'-lantern, will-o'-the-wisp, wisp.
2. Something that misleads or deludes; an illusion.

(This is another try at a stolen format. Benj, you are some idol.)

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(Imitation of style. Piece 1.)

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This is one of those janitor’s closets you wish had aesthetic appeal.

It’s anything, save the aesthetic.

I expected nothing of standing between these tight walls; suffocating because of confounds and the objects before me. I expected a call from the girl with the short black hair and the ghost perfume who likes to leave trails down the road for me to follow.

A smell that has a heart shape and a pink flavor.

But no.

I'm spilling over a barrel of a red, transluscent, glue like substance on the floor, potentially letting off some of the circuitry, since there are wires and machinery packed in this place as if it were a hardbacked copy of that 1 million paged diary.

I am participating in a wild collection of data. It all feels short of earthy in my palms. But no realization or slap in the face could halt my motives.

Grabbing a silver flask from my pocket I light a cigarette. I let the sweet niccotine puff out in little white clouds through the parting of my mouth. I notice my lips are dry and wet them. This is no form of concentration. I unscrew the lid as hard as I can without losing my hands.

More fluid pours onto the cheap marble surface (more than likely a no-brand linoleum), the lid smacks the floor like it were a packet of thick plastic. The contents are emitted in bubblewrapped portions.

How sickly.

What's worse is the set of new things I have to deal with.

But, as in any case, orders are orders. I collect the packages, no hesitation, place them into a black box and take polaroids of each individual limb.

Yes, you heard me right, limb. These aren't tree limbs, either. More like human legs and arms. Included as well are four working eyes and fingers and toes.

I close the box and seal the top with some masking tape and question the ethics of the task, but I know I have no choice. The instructions manual finds its way back into a brown paper bag.
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