Getting ready for a birthday party

 

I was peeling beets.  My landlord has a super slicer.  The best thing I have seen to peel beets.  I was thinking of Edgar Allan Poe.  I was thinking of peeling skin.  How would Edgar Allen Poe describe peeling skin?  He would talk about why the skin was being sliced off.  How the super slicer was an heirloom of the pirate captain great uncle out of South Carolina.  It had mysterious runes carved into the blade.  There was a green emerald in the handle that glowed when you were peeling fresh skin. I needed to peel skin.  

Then, the phone rang.

'It was something to do with Edgar Allan Poo!', said the voice on the phone.  I did not want to say anything; I bit my tongue.   How should I react?  'What are you doing?  Let's hang out!', said the voice on the phone.  I felt like a stalker caught in the porch light.  'You must be inspired!  What inspired you to write about Edgar Allen Poo?'  

'I was peeling beets,' I said, but no one was listening.  I had been put on hold, that very moment.

The turnips were next.  They watched me peel the skin from the beets.  They watched me cut them up into bite sized pieces.  They just sat there, unmoving.  I flicked a piece of skin from the slicer right into one of their faces.   No reaction.  So I peeled their skin, too.  I took my time.  I drank some tea.  I savored the scent of fresh peeled flesh.  This is what the indigenous peoples did for entertainment.  They peeled skin.  I was entertained. 

The call is still on hold. You cannot hang up. They just call back. I know why they called. The Edgar Allen Poe party. I have to go. 

I keep a shrunken head in the kitchen. It was watching me. It watched me line up the beets, then take them one by one to have their skins removed. I peeled the skin off slow. I made sure the shrunken head had a good view. February is Black Heritage Month in Mitchieville, and I wanted to add Jamaican Gold and Green to the diversity. So new beads for the shrunken head. It watched me skin the turnips.

'You can wear your fez and curly toe slippers to the party!' said the voice on the phone. I was off hold and pulled back to the literary requirements of an Edgar Allan Poo party.  'I am excited!' I was told and back to hold I was sent. 

So, I am going to a birthday party, an Edgar Allen Poe party. The place will be filled with happy people, shiny happy people.  I will take borscht for pot luck. I will wear my fez and stand on carpeted floors with my curly toe slippers. Someone will ask me about inspiration, and I will mention peeling beets. 

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.  I care.