Girlfriend is Electric

Here you are once more—home alone in your Victorian chateau and it's coming down. You never got over your dread of apparitions. You reveal to yourself it's childish and absurd, however as the lights diminish and light up, your feelings of dread fluctuate, as though on prompt.

The elastic plants scheme. The breeze backs up water in the channels. The house is murmuring, squeaking, murmuring like a reed in a harmonica, and everything is singing with a bizarre music.

At that point she shows up, a student wearing a uniform—pullover and kilt and knee socks—long light hair falling to her shoulders.

"What do you need?" I inquire.

Her dull mouth moves. No words come out.

The lights diminish once more, lightning snaps and she's gone.

Sweetheart electric—great witch riding the tempest.

"Things being what they are, it happened again the previous evening—same dream?"

I yawn. I'm certain Margot, my specialist, thinks me distraught—yet at that point, that is the reason I'm here, right?

"Ya, it did—regular old—same inclination."

"You're unceremonious—very OK with it at that point?"

"Ridiculous hellfire I am!" The upheaval amazes even me.

Her pen writes.

"Well at that point, I figure we ought to examine this."

"Goodness, definitely, Doctor Freud. I'm here for a mental obstacle, paying you a few hundred an hour and you need me to doddle away my time talking about a fantasy?"

She reclines and moans, pushing ceaselessly a wanderer twist of red hair. She's dreadfully attractive—for a develop lady, that is—she has this Prime of Miss Jean Brodie vibe going.

"You need to let me help you, James—you need to believe I realize where to go and I'm not out to downy you as Inge did."

That hurt—truly stung.

Inge bit me up, at that point, left, my blood despite everything trickling from her teeth—took me for what I was worth—not much in those days, yet everything.

"So what is this—reality treatment?"

She smooths her tight beige skirt, re-crossing her long legs—everything unknowingly erotic with her.

"It is safe to say that you will participate or assume a ruining job? You're the person who's hauling this out, James."

"Me? Hey there Margot—I've experienced hellfire and back attempting to disentangle me. I've had a go at everything—even Scientology. For hell's sake, I grasped two jars and was handled through an e-meter till I was freed from engrams."

"That doesn't mean you're not maintaining a strategic distance from things now."

She's correct. I've been avoids the problem in a bigger number of ways than one. Truly, I locate her appealing and I've been staying away from my genuine apprehension—my dread of ladies.

"OK, so what do you think's going on?"

She snickers delicately, "Pleasant attempt, yet I ask, you answer."

I gaze her straight in the eye and falsehood.

"I haven't a wicked piece of information."

"Truly?"

"What do you mean?" I eye her suspiciously.

"Who's the young lady?"

"You think I know her? I don't—she's only a fantasy of my creative mind."

She curves an eyebrow.

"She's not flipping genuine."

"On the off chance that you say as much."

"Ok, I get it—you believe I'm stifling something—like she's a piece of my past, or something to that effect."

"Is it accurate to say that you are asking, or telling?"

I see her despondently. "Truly Margot, I don't have the foggiest idea—I don't have a clue what her identity is."

She takes a gander at her gold wristwatch. "I think we'll start here next time—there's something here, James. We have to take a gander at this."

"OK," I gesture. She strolls me out to the assistant.

"Make an arrangement for James at two next Wednesday, Sylphide." She stops and looks distinctly, "And this time, do whatever it takes not to be late."

I open my mouth to dissent, yet she skims away—as elegant as a bright kite, broken liberated from its tie and cruising toward Spain.

"Mr. Randall?" Sylphide is gazing up at me, confounded.

"Gracious, I'm grieved, Sylphide." I take the proffered arrangement card, "Wednesday will be fine."

She grins and comes back to her PC.

I truly need to get it together—however what I truly need is a beverage. I punch in Harry's number on my cell and organize to meet him at The Sly Foxe.

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