an excuse for imagery

Nathanæl sat under the shower and wore the water like a teary crown. He believed he could last forever in the warm, wet cocoon until he died of pruning. He could just see the headline in Monday’s early edition:



Nathanæl almost cried with hysterical laughter at the thought. After a few moments of wondering laughter he turned off the shower, dried off, and started his evening convolutions. Before he laid his head upon the pillow, he revisited the thought and chuckled his way into a light slumber, where his dreams took him to forward in the morbid fantasy’s progression. His dream was like watching a collage of nightly television news clips about his own demise.