Severed heads bothered Dandelion nightly. They floated in the air above his bed with their tongues hanging out and their eyes half open and would not let Dandelion sleep.
Was it advisable to try to engage them in conversation? To feed them? Kick them? Seek the help of an exorcist or psychiatrist? Dandelion, in the end, decided that his experience in the choir at his church was what was going to be most useful.
The next time the severed heads appeared, Dandelion taught them the harmonies to La Marseillaise, and found that they were able to pronounce French most admirably. Allons, enfants, belted out the heads, and many more songs thereafter.
2 comments:
I love your poetry.
Thanks! I call them microfictions, but I am told the technical term is flash fiction. I just don't like that word.
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