“God, it was brilliant!” she said in a muffled voice, waving her thumb in the air. I watched as all the pieces somehow knit themselves together and crept into the valleys and gullies to once more become my Muse.
“Ouch, that hurts,” she said looking up at me with an eyeball that slowly moved around to the left side of the puddle. It was disconcerting to watch. Her bones creaked audibly as they rearranged their configuration. I stuck my fingers in my ears; it sounded too much like chalk screeching on a chalk board. It gave me the heeby jeebies. The flies were back, breeding like rabbits as I watched as she knit herself together.
“I can’t die, dear, you won’t let me,” she sounded resigned.
“I know, but that’s because I need you. You have to there for every novel I intend on finishing. Nanowrimo comes along every November; that’s at least a novel a year give or take,” I said not a little proud of the accomplishment.
“You certainly don’t need to remind me of that,” she said, her voice now less muffled as her tongue and teeth were once again right side up and in the correct order. Previously I saw her tongue wagging out of her left ear which in turn had been where her right foot was normally situated. Things were coming together in a hurry.
“You need to help me up before everything is in place otherwise nothing is going to get me up from here except maybe a crane.”
“What about all the pieces still lying on the ground though?”
‘They will find their way, they always do, dear,” she said wearily. I helped her up even though it was really a struggle. People on the bridge stared down at me as I performed weird movements with my body. I was having a drag out; knock them down fight with the air around me. A blush spread through my cheeks and settled in my roots.
“Don’t worry about them, dear; they too need some excitement in their lives. They might as well find it in your quirkiness.”
“What if someone recognises me and everyone think s I have really gone over the edge?” I asked scared that my minuscule reputation as a writer would be tarnished.
“Strictly speaking you have gone over the edge, haven’t you?”
I suddenly realised that it was true. I had survived the jump even though I had a little help which would probably be blue in the morning. How is it possible that she can have a physical reaction in reality when she is a mere figment of my overactive imagination? I still had more answers than questions, which was the purpose of the whole exercise. My mind needed to be unfettered and should walk in any direction it damn well chose. I have been fencing it off and channelling it into narrow beds it was not made to go into.