Black Morrow, Day Before Yesterday

--“If we are to survive in the environment we have made for ourselves, may we have to be monstrous enough to greet our predicament?” Nicholas Mosley, Hopeful Monsters.

“Colloidal suspension.”

“How do you mean that?”

Gwen felt herself in possession of a foul mood. Specifically, she felt herself on the down side of a gray and misty mountain of black bile. The mountain had a dank aura dripping from its floppy trees into a golden chalice and Gwen had drunk of it. Auras are tricky things, Gwen knew because her mother had told her about them and how there are people out there who want to take your aura from you. Men especially want your aura and will go to lengths to capture it. Your aura is your most prized possession, her mother had said. Gwen moved the brooch that was rubbing her from above her left breast to a place midway between her two breasts. She placed the brooch exactly where she told her diary that Bradford had rested his head. She felt bad about the lie, but she was certain Pamela was reading her diary, so she had no recourse.

“Constabulary inaction.”

“Okay, but…”

It was a confusing time in Gwen’s life. This did not, however, distinguish it from the rest of her life, nor did it make the moments ring in her ears with less piquancy. Love was beside the point. Well, not exactly beside it, just … There were career choices to be made. The brooch was still rubbing her, so she moved it to a spot above her right breast, the spot she’d told her diary Bradford had placed his lips as they sat under a shade tree eating a bucket of fried chicken. Would librarianship be her path in life or would pharmacy? Or perhaps electrical engineering!

“Mitigated gall.”

“Gosh, that felt …  Wait. See that girl. Let’s move.”

Gwen felt herself in possession of opportunities but not a single one filled the empty space behind where the brooch now rested. What did it matter how many opportunities a girl possessed if she didn’t possess the man she wanted? She could have the finest aura in the world but if the man she loved didn’t beseech her to hand it over, what good was it? Her diary would want to hear about that fried chicken. The cow Pamela lived for fried chicken. But she’d have to return this dang brooch to Pamela’s jewelry box.