The Poems of Insanity

Chapter XXVIII: Comic and Tragic

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What was he thinking?

Poète sat cross-legged at his desk.

He knew he was supposed to be writing.

His editor, Edward, was expecting the second draft of Poète’s newest poem tomorrow.

Poète had, in fact, not started it yet.

If he was quite honest, he didn’t know when exactly he was going to start it.

What he did know is that he was supposed to hate Fidèle.

At least that’s what he thought they had silently agreed upon.

Yet, she still managed to haunt his thoughts like a mildly irritating ghost.

Well, in his defense, Fidèle felt impossible to forget.

Even Frèdèric probably had the ability to recall Fidèle from six feet down.

Or whether he'd left the faucet running.

Poète chortled guiltily at the thought.

“That is absolutely not funny.”

He mumbled to himself, covering his mouth with his hand.

“What’s not funny, Poe?”

Fidèle asked, leaning into the room, removing her gloves.

“Nothing, poupée!”

Poète chirped, his voice cracking slightly.

Fidèle turned around, strands of hair falling over her eyes.

“If you insist, Socrates.”

She grinned, pushing her hair back from her face.

“Oui, Mademoiselle.”

Poète mumbled, forcing a smile onto his face.

“Oh God.”

He crooned, clutching his head.

“What’re you doing?”

A harsh voice spat.

Poète sighed, his face faltering for a brief moment.

The creatures.

“I don’t know, mon ami.”26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDbrj9AoNd1
He whimpered.

The smaller thing gasped.

“You… oh my! May I say it? It is so horrid I just must ask!”

It flickered.

The taller creature clutched its chest.

“Yes, if you must say it, you may.”

It exhaled gravely.

The shorter one twitched at the approval, lowering its voice as it stepped closer.

“Poète… cares about her.”

It croaked, wiping its sunken eyes with its palms.

The larger creature sucked in a whistling breath.

“I can’t believe this!”26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWUNxOnyRfP
It cried before turning to Poète.

“Is this true, Petit Shakespeare?"

It hissed coldly.

Poète’s eyes darted between the things.

“It’s compli-”

He began.

“Tell us the truth, Poe. We’re all civil here.”

The tallest one cooed, placing its hands on the desk as the shorter one placed a hand on Poète’s shoulder.

“I… Yes, I do. Only slightly-”

Poète uttered tentatively.

The larger one let out a tragic wail and the smaller one giggled comically.

Poète’s eyes widened.

“Oh dear.”

“Why?! She is reality incarnate, Poe!”

The tragic creature shrieked.

“What were you thinking?”

The comic figure chuckled.

“Go away! Both of you! Oh dear- the dreadful chattering! Just… go! Please?!”

Poète requested, a sharp edge in his voice.

The comic figure bit its tongue.

The tragic creature turned to leave.

“Life is like chess.”26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeyVqXNelqF
It stated.

“Make your move, Petit Shakespeare. We’ve been waiting.”

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