A Prose Story by Michael Igoe “Venetian Blind”

Fevers of the Mind

Venetian Blind

Listen to me closely. Something is going to happen. Soon, something will happen to me. I can’t say exactly what for sure. It’s an old story you’d recognize immediately. Strange to think, it has no end or beginning, its details are practically forced on memory. Etched. They’re related to legal matters. At intervals, I visit memory in many clusters. Without apparent reason. At times I do this to avoid arguments...Or in the midst of one. In the presence of a constant anomie. It overtakes me. But as far as I’m concerned, these are incidents best forgotten. Relegated to a junk heap. Leave them well enough alone. Caught up in the sequence of events, I can’t help but wonder if they’ll ever mean anything to anyone. I’ve been called a pissant, taking pains with everything to the point of extreme annoyance. Maybe that’s the nature of my recollection. Just…

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