冰猫侦探社

Fumbling words moved my drowsy mind to a laborious clarity at midnight. I grabbed my phone and typed words in an order that best framed my state of mind, tying back my elusive little thoughts in an obedient pony tail from an unruly mop. The flicking cursor winked at me, encouraging and tentative, as if to make sure that I’d spilled it all out, with a pair of caring eyes, those of a stomach-pumping nurse. This made me sick. You sentient jackanapes! I thought with venom in my hiss. Then I shut off the screen and sent the words to no one.   I gazed into the hallow of blackness, silhouetted by the fuzzy rims from the signal light on the air conditioner, time grazing my drenched-cold skin, every second that passed ticking a welt on it. Another night’s gone white. I thought motionless, under my heavy breath so moist that I could squeeze it for dewdrops. I wouldn’t want to bury my nose under the cover - that would be action involved and I’d rather die. In my small wishful thinking, everyt...

The thing about having an inordinate amount of tea mere hours before bedtime is not so much the fear of losing sleep as the brutalization from a confined body with a  mutinied mind. Through some hard-to-explain yet does-exist mechanism, my head is always leaps ahead the rest of my shell, which sounds excruciatingly funny because it is (just think of a cartoon cat holding its severed head running in circles while the house mouse gives a hearty, noisy snuffle), but does not make me any more endearing. You are like a swordsman with a freshly botoxed face, says my mom; you are the coldest person I’ve ever met, says one of my solar female friends, to which, almost by way of retort, I responded “‘cause I’ve never expected to catch heat from you?” I’m not cold, I mean, at least not as siderale  as they made me out. I’m not justifying anything just because  it’s 4 in the morning and I’m hyperactive after that dammed tea with nothing better to do. I, personally, do not see anythin...