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Blondes have more fun

[Blondes have more fun, 775 words, Genre: Dark Humour]

* Image courtesy of Dirk de Bruyn

The grass grew at a steady rate. All through out the patch of lawn there was not a spot that wasn’t tainted by green. In different parts of the lawn little flowers grew out of the patch of lawn and provided tiny spectacles of yellow in amongst all that green.

Sandra sat there on the grass, picking at the blades with her fingers. She was waiting for something, but didn’t know exactly what she was waiting for. The wind blew through her blonde hair. She had never liked being blonde, all of these jokes that were aimed at her intelligence always grated at her self-confidence. But she was born like this and preferred in contrast to all of those jokes the old idiom, ‘Blondes have more fun.’

As she sat on the lawn she sucked down a cola down through a straw. She savoured the sugary drink. The drink was mainly made up of sugar, so much sugar that the liquid turned black. Then a man approached her, she looked him from toes to head. He wore bright red shoes with white laces. He wore chino styled pants that were of a tan colour and wore a plain white shirt. He had dark hair and had his facial hair styled in a van dyke fashion. She considered this figure and summarized his personal character in a single word; ‘mysterious.’

“May I sit down with you?” The man asked.

Sandra looked up at him, the sun was shining directly behind him and she had to squint her eyes so that the glare didn’t sear her vision, “Huh?”

“May I sit down and have a chat?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

The man settled himself on the grass beside Sandra. He shuffled his long limbs around on the grass, he was quite a tall man. “Do you believe in hypnotism?”

“Excuse me?” Sandra asked at the question that came from out of nowhere. She was not sure if she had heard correctly.

“Do you believe in hypnotism? I’m a hypnotist. Do you believe in what I do?”

“Sure, why not? I mean I’ve heard of queerer things in the world. Why wouldn’t I believe in hypnotism?”

“It’s just that many people see it as a fraudulent art. I guess you’re not one of those people, but may I do something? May I hypnotize you?”

“Why? What are you going to make me do?”

“Nothing that you wouldn’t want. You see, in the art of hypnotism, we can’t hypnotise you to do something against your will. So keeping that in mind, will you allow me to hypnotise you?”

“Okay, sure. I’m always up for a little fun. As long as it’s not anything sexual.”

“No, no, no… Nothing of the sort.”

“Fine, let’s do it.” Sandra arranged herself on the grass. Configuring her body, so that she sat directly at head height with the mysterious man.

“Look into my eyes and count backwards from ten.”

She stared into the hypnotist’s eyes and begun counting backwards from ten. “Ten, nine, eight…” And so on. Sandra felt herself going into a trance as the man’s gentle words wrapped tentacles around her mind. His soft voice was soothing and she slowly drifted off.

She awoke to the man snapping his fingers. Sandra looked around, confused and disoriented. “What, what, what happened?”

“Relax Sandra, relax. You’ve been under a trance for the past week.”

“For the past week. You maniac! I had to go to work, I had to do things.”

“Relax, relax, I took care of all of that.” The hypnotist handed Sandra a series of photos.

“What are these?” Sandra asked, looking through the stack of photos. She shuffled through them all. They were all various photos of her. There was a photo of her at an airport, there was a photo of her on an aeroplane, there was a photo of her scaling a mountain. “What the hell are these!?” Sandra asked again, slightly vexed at this point in time.

“These are photos of you on your holiday.”

“My holiday?”

“Yes, your holiday. I took you on holiday to Nepal. We went trekking through the Himalayas. I paid for it all, I didn’t touch your money and took care of all of your arrangements at work.”

“What’s the bloody point in taking a holiday, if I can’t remember a thing?”

“Well, you still have the photos.”

“Yes, but I can’t remember it at all. What the hell was the point of this?”

“The point is, the point is…” the hypnotist clicked over his tongue, “… instead of going on holiday to take photos. You should go on holiday to create memories.”

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