Allister sometimes felt his skeleton giggle at him from beneath his skin. This, he felt, unkind. This, he also felt, unfair. For, the skeleton had it easy. Had it run free with other skeletons no one would know the difference of one skeleton from another. Therefore, they could do what they wanted. His skeleton was free to make mistakes. To trip, and stumble, and mispronounce words, and forget birthdays. And no one would remember which skeleton had done it. They would learn from the mistake simply and move on and no one could hold it against them. A skeleton's life was easy.
Not so, for the rest of Allister. His eyes were getting weary. His sense of smell was atrocious (so bad that there were times when Allister could only detect a smell of the most rank form by the intense headache that came with remaining in the odor's territory while all around him had long left (which Allister would have realized much sooner had his eyesight not been so awful)). His skeleton, and all skeletons, had none of this to worry about. All their eyesockets were neatly hollowed. All their nasal passages were just that-dark triangular-ish holes.
Allister tried to ignore, tried to be mature. But, as anyone with skeletal problems will tell you, skeletons are of the most bullying sort. There would be giggles at tea. Giggles in philosophical debate. When Allister would pull his eyeglasses from their case or clutch his forehead when the pain that could only be that of a most smelly situation surged forward, his skeleton giggled harder. The head pain troubled Allister. Shouldn't his skeleton feel this, too? No, the feeling lived by way of nerves, not skeleton. More giggles from his bony counterpart. Allister threatened breaking to himself, dropping an anvil on a femur or a sledgehammer to the ribcage. But, he knew this would hurt himself in the process. He also knew most of these processes required a party of two. And, though he had friends, he could think of none that would break a bone of his upon request.
This left Allister with but one choice. One night, as his body (all skin, nerves, tissue, and bone of it) prepared for sleep, he let his skeleton out to explore the world on its own, free of all nerve, skin, and tissue. The skeleton giggled, as was to be expected, and stumbled to the floor. It collected itself and fumbled around, running into end table, dresser, and wall before taking a nasty tumble down the stairs. His skeleton was much more of a clutz than one would think. It was fortunate that his skeleton had no eyes and therefore could not see how embarrassingly clumsy it was. Once again, it collected itself and worked to find the door outside. This took only an hour and a half more. There were a lot of door knobs and you must understand that, without nerves, Allister's skeleton whether holding a door knob or not could not tell if it was holding a door knob or not. It was left turning door knobs and air as if they were one in the same.
Once outside, the skeleton did not know what to do. Hollow senses equal hollow goals. This was a revelation his skeleton made, though it could not retain it, for the brain was laying comfortably in bed. Nevertheless, he took a few steps into the unknown and was soon lost. He yelled for help, but without vocal chords, he produced no sound and without ears , he could not hear that he produced no sound. He was also unaware of all the evening pedestrians screaming at the sight of a skeleton with mouth agape as if giggling at the moon. All skeleton expressions look like laughter unbeknownst to Allister's bony self.
All those thoughts and senses went unrecognized by his skeleton. Another fact that went unrecognized by Allister's skeleton, was the fact that, without ligaments, the bones would not hold together. And, also unrecognized by Allister's skeleton, was the recognition of the un-recognizing that, without ligaments, the bones would not hold together. You see, these thoughts were all still resting in the brain, which you remember, was still resting on Allister's bed.
What you may not remember (because you were never told) is that Allister's skeleton never left the bed either. It could not. The skeleton, of course, did not know that. It did not know anything on its own. It needed the ligaments and the brain and the rest of Allister to-well, to do anything. And, had it not been for a chance visit by Allister's personal physician, all of Allister's parts would have remained laying on his bed for some time.
The doctor helped Allister's shaky bones back into his skin. They shushed and calmed his bones down until they stood sturdy. And, after shaking the doctor's hand, Allister offered him some tea in thanks. When Allister (all together again) and the doctor walked downstairs to the kitchen, it was most quietly and most easily accomplished. Allister opened the cupboard and, even when he was forced to put on his eyeglasses to read the labels on the tea boxes, not a single giggle was heard.
Not so, for the rest of Allister. His eyes were getting weary. His sense of smell was atrocious (so bad that there were times when Allister could only detect a smell of the most rank form by the intense headache that came with remaining in the odor's territory while all around him had long left (which Allister would have realized much sooner had his eyesight not been so awful)). His skeleton, and all skeletons, had none of this to worry about. All their eyesockets were neatly hollowed. All their nasal passages were just that-dark triangular-ish holes.
Allister tried to ignore, tried to be mature. But, as anyone with skeletal problems will tell you, skeletons are of the most bullying sort. There would be giggles at tea. Giggles in philosophical debate. When Allister would pull his eyeglasses from their case or clutch his forehead when the pain that could only be that of a most smelly situation surged forward, his skeleton giggled harder. The head pain troubled Allister. Shouldn't his skeleton feel this, too? No, the feeling lived by way of nerves, not skeleton. More giggles from his bony counterpart. Allister threatened breaking to himself, dropping an anvil on a femur or a sledgehammer to the ribcage. But, he knew this would hurt himself in the process. He also knew most of these processes required a party of two. And, though he had friends, he could think of none that would break a bone of his upon request.
This left Allister with but one choice. One night, as his body (all skin, nerves, tissue, and bone of it) prepared for sleep, he let his skeleton out to explore the world on its own, free of all nerve, skin, and tissue. The skeleton giggled, as was to be expected, and stumbled to the floor. It collected itself and fumbled around, running into end table, dresser, and wall before taking a nasty tumble down the stairs. His skeleton was much more of a clutz than one would think. It was fortunate that his skeleton had no eyes and therefore could not see how embarrassingly clumsy it was. Once again, it collected itself and worked to find the door outside. This took only an hour and a half more. There were a lot of door knobs and you must understand that, without nerves, Allister's skeleton whether holding a door knob or not could not tell if it was holding a door knob or not. It was left turning door knobs and air as if they were one in the same.
Once outside, the skeleton did not know what to do. Hollow senses equal hollow goals. This was a revelation his skeleton made, though it could not retain it, for the brain was laying comfortably in bed. Nevertheless, he took a few steps into the unknown and was soon lost. He yelled for help, but without vocal chords, he produced no sound and without ears , he could not hear that he produced no sound. He was also unaware of all the evening pedestrians screaming at the sight of a skeleton with mouth agape as if giggling at the moon. All skeleton expressions look like laughter unbeknownst to Allister's bony self.
All those thoughts and senses went unrecognized by his skeleton. Another fact that went unrecognized by Allister's skeleton, was the fact that, without ligaments, the bones would not hold together. And, also unrecognized by Allister's skeleton, was the recognition of the un-recognizing that, without ligaments, the bones would not hold together. You see, these thoughts were all still resting in the brain, which you remember, was still resting on Allister's bed.
What you may not remember (because you were never told) is that Allister's skeleton never left the bed either. It could not. The skeleton, of course, did not know that. It did not know anything on its own. It needed the ligaments and the brain and the rest of Allister to-well, to do anything. And, had it not been for a chance visit by Allister's personal physician, all of Allister's parts would have remained laying on his bed for some time.
The doctor helped Allister's shaky bones back into his skin. They shushed and calmed his bones down until they stood sturdy. And, after shaking the doctor's hand, Allister offered him some tea in thanks. When Allister (all together again) and the doctor walked downstairs to the kitchen, it was most quietly and most easily accomplished. Allister opened the cupboard and, even when he was forced to put on his eyeglasses to read the labels on the tea boxes, not a single giggle was heard.
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