Monkey and The Grinder


Meridith stayed put, in perfect stillness, glued to the folds of her bedsheets by sweat that threatened to drown her. The organ grinder called in the morning, as did the inept balloon modeller who made the children cry outside.


“Make an owl”, the child said.
“What does an owl look like?”, the balloon modeller replied
“It’s the shape and colour of a small, cute tombstone…and it squeaks.”
“Owls don’t squeak.”
“Balloon animals squeak.”
“I see.”
“Everything squeaks, given the circumstances. Everything screams.”

The monkey squeaked. The organ squeaked.


 …and the monkey added to the sweat of the room.

The bed-ridden lady, thick with fever, saw hot air balloons, painted alternately a blood red and a monkey-fur brown. She could go wherever she wanted. She wanted a horse once – that wish had long expired.

A Prince once came to kiss her,

“Get off me!” she protested.

Her blood was subsequently drained by the Physician’s new breed of leeches.



4 thoughts on “Monkey and The Grinder

  1. Yes the photos by the way are of artpiece that I discovered on my trip to Sweden, displayed bizarelly not in a Gallery but in the reception of some mysterious business building. I’m assuming they have so much cash they buy art once in a while to confuse people who waiting for meetings to start. So that inspired this story.

    Any Swedish people have further info? It would be much apprieciated.

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