Bored

Crying Child by Diane Arbus

First, I don’t know why but it was those keys that suddenly bored me and even though it was only yesterday (or five minutes ago?) that you couldn't pry them out of my little hands without hearing my shrill screams, they became utterly meaningless, just, you know, a silly, jangling set of little metal objects that unlocked nothing and had no personal significance to me whatsoever, and then it was that electrical outlet you used to have to drag me away from, I mean, what could I possibly have seen in some small, rectangular holes in the wall leading nowhere, and finally, my God, that flushing toilet I used to stare at in fascination this morning while you grabbed my hands so I couldn’t dip them into the water—really, I'm just so completely over it all—no, no, no, I want something else now, I want something more, I want, I want, I want—how do you say it?


by Nina Zolotow

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