MONKEY OF HYPOTHALAMUS
he sat waiting……………………………………………………….his thoughts were scattered (as was usual with people with his gift). he was confused and yet it all made sense in an infinitely incomprehensive way.
Somewhere inside his head (quite near the hypothalamus he supposed) a small monkey was playing the accordion. It didn’t bother him much anymore; he had grown accustomed to it over the years. more concerning was he outside world …but still the ignorance of humanity kept them slaving.
he spat with force and watched the globule of saliva slowly run down the rough-cast wall.
He considered a trip he’d made to the seaside as a child. there had been a dead seagull on the beach; now, thirty years later, tears rolled down his cheeks as he recalled the incident.
he cried for three days then began laughing uncontrollably. when questioned, he responded that ‘the’ Queen was coming to tea; he was almost interested just for a moment. everything briefly seemed tangible; even the sunlight flickering on his midnight-blue carpet looked solid; he leaned forward and picked it up.
The men came again; always asking, poking, prodding. what did they want to know? they never listened. he tried to give them signs.
sometimes when he talked, he waggled his finger; couldn’t they guess? This meant “YES”, but they only heard his words and they were all lies.
they asked him if he wanted to see his daughter; he smiled. he loved her, at least he thought he did. the monkey was playing so loudly, it was difficult to remember. slowly he looked up and answered:
“I am an unreal person; I am made of glass or else I am made of metal, but I am completely locked. you will never find the secret lever, the eternal lever, maybe it is in my feet; it walks away.
I have tried to lose the KEY to me; you can look at me closely if you wish, but you will see much more from far away…”
…and though he was lying, he spoke the truth.
six months later, he had stopped moving (he had been considering it for a while; the monkey told him that is was the right thing to do and eventually he couldn’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t).
he was midway through eating a banana when suddenly the time was right…
…his hand remained in the empty void midway between lap and mouth for two hours before they realised…
…he would have laughed, but time had stopped for him. he could still perceive the World; just not himself. If it didn’t happen to him that he form opinions on anything (what was it to him?). later when they had dragged him back to their world he would reflect that maybe God felt the same lack of concern as he/she watched ‘his/her’ world expand and contract.
Meanwhile, society had decided that he should die for his impertinence. He was afraid, yet he knew that they held ostensible righteousness (wrong or right). he waggled his right index finger yet again to indicate so, but they weren’t listening; NATURAL.
The needle in his arm felt cool and smooth, causing him to groan in a mixed sense of pleaser as the poison travelled through his veins to unnecessary stations; like a guided missile it headed straight towards the hypothalamus.
In the spit second before he died, he had the most intense moment of clarity he’d ever experienced.
With understanding came an overwhelming peace; he wanted to tell them all, but it was all too late. The monkey shrieked as it spiralled into oblivion and the it was all over……………………………………….
…………….later when he was reborn his former schizophrenic, he laughed with the men at all the foolish things they’d said through the years/minutes/eons.
He was proud of his “recovery” and returned to his former office occupation with surprising enthusiasm.
Mankind never knew what they had lost.
He had forgotten what he was waiting for.