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Even Crazies Need Tea

I'm a little tea pot. Short and stout. Here is my handle. Here is my stout. When I get all steamed up. Here me shout...

Tip me over and pour me out.

I was clutching the bottom of my dress pants and there was a drone in my head. This dull ache telling me to stop what I was doing. I don't know what it was. My conscience? Normalcy? And what was I doing? Crying. And singing. I WAS. A little tea pot.

First, the security guards were annoyed I'd caused a disturbance. Then they grew worried, so did my colleagues. Women who never looked twice at me on my floor shoved their cleavages into my face and brushed my hair away from my face and wiped my tears telling me everything was going to be okay like they were mother. It felt wonderful.

After that I don't remember much until I got to Cedar Springs. I was all of a sudden away from the wispy breasts and mothering touches. This place smelled of Lysol and calm. Nothing was ticking. I could hear no air conditioning or...anything. The doctors mouth moved but it was like I was Charlie fucking Brown and he was the teacher. Womp Womp Womp. WompWompWompWomp?

I shrugged.

The doctors voice got harsher. My voice cracked.

They put me in a white room. It wasn't like on television or the movies. The walls weren't padded and it wasn't all perfectly white. More of an off white.

Story by:

Conrad Ridgestone

7 March 2013