Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Dead Rite chapter 99.11

“By Satan's pointy appendage, you do blather on, don't you?” Ada stabbed at the book with her finger. “Have you found the reversal spell yet?”

“Not yet, mum, no. The book seems to have been written in one go by a man who hadn't so much organised his thoughts as eaten them in one big curry and then scooped them out of the toilet bowl the following morning. Trying to find anything in the mess of thoughts, suppositions and plain incorrect assumptions is like trying to find a needle in a whole barn of hay while a farmer is dropping lit matches because he needs the insurance money.”

“Isn't there an index?”

“Oh! Why didn't I think of looking in the index, because all handwritten streams of consciousness have an index in the back. Oh wait, there isn't one. I thought one might have appeared because you think it ought to be there.”

“There's no need for that, Harold.” Ada's voice could have made the fridge think it was useless at its job. “Society is based upon being civil and if you can't say something civil I'd rather you said nothing at all. Debating the philosophy and merits of the afterlife is all well and good but there's a time and a place for everything and right now I want you to get rid of a spider so that I can go to bed.”

“Right. Sorry, mum.”

Ada tapped him on the cheek with the palm of her hand. “Don't tell me sorry. Show me it.”

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