The Usual Suspects
by Jard van Everdink ︎︎︎A war is waging in my house. I have to admit, this is mostly my fault; my hoarding tendencies have led to a scala of ill-fitting, mismatching objects, residing in corners, on shelves and on the floor. Without some sort of readiness to fight, an object would find it a difficult task to find their place in my home. I placed a dragon next to two dolphins, I placed a doll on a horse next to a triceratops and for good measure I placed a collection of rocks of a respectable size on top of a chair with a broken back.
Camps are forming, and you might not be surprised to hear that most bonds are formed based on their geographical position and general nearness. For instance, on a table in the corner there are a chessboard with an unfinished game still on it and a pair of binoculars – as you can imagine a strong tactical team. They are received with the utmost suspicion, not in the least by the small group of chess-knights on the opposite side of the room. Deserters, perhaps, though I'll never be able to tell because they are a close-knit group with tight lips about their past.
Having made the mistake of being a figurative painter, one wall is covered in paintings with faces. I can count as many as fourteen pairs of eyes throwing foul looks across the room. Two-dimensionality is no obstacle if you have the numbers, and they well know it. Other than exchanging looks, they feel themselves above the words that are whispered between factions – and boy, there's a lot going around of that. Taunting words (triceratops: “I have not seen such idiocy since my childhood!”) are met with venomous retorts (dolphins: “At least our species still exists!”).
Doll-on-horse is a cantankerous bitch. Leave it to her to instigate more conflict at times when things seemingly calm down. Being snubbed of the position of general by a pair of clowns (yes, literal clowns) has only made her all the more irritable. She has been eyeing rocks-on-chair menacingly for some time now, which should be a worrying notion for all; this mountain ridge forms a natural barrier of great tactical importance. No clown will be able to stop her from braving this barrier once she has set her mind to do so.
Tempers are rising, conversation dies down as a new loaded concentration enters the room. Everybody is on edge, waiting for the first sign of aggression and readying up to respond with their own force. And then, when I think things will get out of hand, I open my door and go for a walk outside; a conscious show. By the time I get back, I expect things will probably have quietened down to a new stalemate, fueled by the lack of agency that sadly comes with immobility. Everything will once again not live to not fight for another day.