The Plague Mates
Should you ever find yourself having to describe the act of ‘Thinking,’ do in fact think before you speak. There are better ways of describing it than as ‘a voice inside your head.’
Sister Madly found that one out the hard way.
There was no indication that the day would one of great peculiarity- that is, until she woke up. In the midst of her Good Morning Stretch, Sister Madly, who had been sleeping in a manner most angelic, came to realize that a familiar face was hovering nearby, watching her sleep.
How, just how did the Effigy make its limbless way from on the fridge to the lamp beside the bed? This wasn’t just a trick of the heartless sunshine, but one of malicious intent, who delighted at the sight of Sister Madly engaging in an acrobatic struggle to free herself from the tangled sheets. Indeed, there was malicious intent- yet, she could prove none of it.
You see, Sister Madly has a habit of leaving things conspicuously out of place as a reminder that there is something of importance pending in her life. The reason for this is so that she’ll ask herself why in the name of Kermit the Frog did she hang a shoe from the ceiling fan, thus tracing her reasoning back to the fact that she needs to pay rent. Logic would therefore dictate that she had intended for there to be a utility bill or a note attached to the Effigy, but Sister Madly does not live in a House of Logic.
Besides, why would Sister Madly want THAT face to be the first thing she sees in the morning?
There is no doubt that the Effigy was assuming liberties beyond his humble station on the refrigerator, even going so far as to wreck havoc upon her dreams. Obviously, the only proper way to deal with the Effigy was to implement the most exquisite example of machete justice ever to be seen.
Only… where is the machete, Sister Madly?
One couldn’t deny the glaring white wall against which there once rested this magnificent weapon; but for just how long has it been this way? The rest of her arsenal seemed to be in tact; but the machete… that appeared to be on holiday.
Sure, she may have misplaced it. History is full of examples of ne’er-do-wells mislaying their machetes in their sparsely furnished, one-room domiciles, only to find it years later with all the missing argyle socks. It’s the classic American Love Story.
But what should have worried her more was the latest fun she’s been having with the Effigy:
Now, what would your great-grandmother say, Sister Madly, after bootlegging and moonshining her way first through Prohibition, then the Depression, only to be defaced by the Effigy and… that other thing? And just what is that other thing? Some sort of demented kumquat? It does looks like a sort of thing the Dodo would marry-
Don’t go there, Sister Madly; don’t do it.
But that’s just the thing she was thinking about later that night; she might have even been making faces while doing so. Of course, she couldn’t tell the Professors this; evidence suggests that they might be on his side. Come to think of it, Sister Madly- how do you know that they aren’t responsible for the Effigy’s cross-studio levitation in the middle of the night? They’ve already threatened to knit a sweater for your car, and everybody knows that is one step away from Effigy Moving. All the oracles say so.*
*They do so!
So when they asked about her obvious lack of interest in anchovies, Sister Madly told them that she was just thinking- a response that was met with confusion, as though such an activity was a foreign.
Yes, Professor, thinking; you know: the voice inside your head…
There was just no taking that one back; there was no use even trying. Perhaps it’s time for you to go home, Sister Madly; better yet, call yourself a cab- and when it arrives, just step out in front of it.
POST’S THEME SONG: The Enemy Guns, DeVotchKa