"I could have thrown him out the window, but I didn't. Instead, I loved the little man, almost to death." -James Tate, from The Ghost Soldiers

Serene

I decided to clean my house, because it really was filthy, like you told me. I started by vacuuming. In the living room, I noticed that my vacuum was kicking up lots of dust into the air. It almost seemed as if the vacuum wasn’t sucking in any of the dust, only kicking it up. It almost seemed as if the vacuum was spitting out more dust into the air than there was previously. The dust began getting so thick I had trouble seeing. I coughed and dust came out of my lungs; I had been breathing it in. I felt the dust in my veins as I watched it float about like volcanic ash. I went to my knees and could only hear the popping and crackling sound a record player makes once the record has finished playing. The dust began flowing in the same direction and started to whirl around every which way, blinding me and shoving me in circles across the floor. The dust formed into a large hand, and that hand picked up the vacuum cleaner. The dust formed into a large, open mouth, and the dust hand threw the vacuum cleaner into the dust mouth. I laughed at the jokes the dust mouth told me about vacuum cleaners and their impotence. I sat in the dust seat that formed, and played dust cards with the dust hand. I felt like I was sinking, but upwards, and outwards. Somewhere, somebody was saying something about disappearing, and the dust agreed.