Chapter 8: What a beautiful dead end—Return of the Tragedy
—I’m searching for a ■. Or maybe I’m looking for a box, or perhaps a precious gem, or maybe a fetus. No, what I’m really looking for is a gear. Or was it an egg? The princess asked me to find it. “My snake has run away. Find it, catch it, strangle it, hang it, and have off with its head.” “Okay.” I decide to sleep until morning. I lie on the sofa, looking up at the black goat staring down at me from the ceiling. Its eyeballs spin around and around in their sockets. Its long red tongue hangs out of its mouth, quivering as it whispers longingly, “Cruel Marchen”. “Wake up, big brother. It’s morning.” My little sister shakes me awake. It’s already morning. Sunlight streams through the curtains, awash with the primary colors. I check my coffin-like alarm clock. Its four hands are still ticking in perfect disorder. Tick-tock, tick-tock. “If you don’t hurry, you’ll be late?” She’s right. I don’t want to be late. Leaping out of the amniotic fluid, I get ready for school. Throwing the cur...
