Phillip

His head was muddled and it was dark. It was dark because his eyes were closed, and he didn't feel like opening them. His head hurt. He considered that briefly, then became aware that his little toe also hurt. Soon, he added his little toe and his back to the list, and thought it might be more productive to make a list of what didn't hurt. No, that produced nothing.

He first wondered what he had done before he went to bed last night, because he was resolved to not do it again. He tried to stop thinking about anything, because it hurt to think.

Slowly it dawned on him that this was not his bed he was lying on, and he was not where he belonged, wherever that was. He thought there had been a miniscule woman, or was it a man who was miniscule? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He courageously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the aqua walls or the peanut or the china cabinet. He closed his eye and moaned nervously.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a sprightly man carrying a vial of poison walk into the room. The man laid the vial of poison on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Good gravy, looks like Mister Big oaf is coming back to life."

He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"I'm outta here, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Phillip.

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to wander. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"

"Diddly bunk, your questions always come in pairs?" Phillip walked to the refrigerator and got a cup of eggnog. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied frenetically, feeling a bit more dowdy.

"Well, it wasn't the Arbor Day Foundation that sent you here," Phillip replied queerly.

"And this doesn't look like a hospital. By the way, where's the bathroom? Who are you working for?" He did need the bathroom, but he also wanted to scope the place out a bit. He wasn't forgetting the vial of poison on the table next to Phillip.

"There you go again. That's two questions. The bathroom's over there," he said, gesturing with his head.

Sitting up slowly and gingerly, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was to his left. The other door was in front of him, beside Phillip who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and a china cabinet in the room. There was a daisy on the china cabinet.

"If you're thinking about picking up that daisy, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Phillip taunted breathlessly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the daisy at the moment. He was waiting for the room to stop spinning after he stood up, bracing himself on the head of the bed. He worked his way to the bathroom, where he took his time trying to clear his head. He splashed some water on his face, then zipped back to the bed and sat down. His eye was beginning to get sticky.

"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"

This seemed to genuinely amuse Phillip. He laughed out loud, then trumpeted "You won't be needing a cab to get where you're going."

Not wanting to belabor that particular point, he instead repeated his earlier question. "Who are you working for?"

"So let's you tell me who you're working for, and why you were snooping around like a goldfish back there in the ice cream parlor." Phillip rapped his fingers on the table beside the vial of poison.

"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"

"You tripped on a Barbie doll. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Yolanda Locke," he lied. "Who do you work for, and why are you keeping me here?"

"Nobody's keeping you here. That would be way too much trouble. Who wants to deal with a sophisticated guest? We just wanted to chat while we help you get back on your feet."

"Okay, we chatted and I'm on my feet," (barely, he thought to himself), "so I'll just be creeping on. Nice talking to you, Phillip."

Although his eye was still getting sticky, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the vial of poison. Phillip stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly slimy manner. Ignoring Phillip's decent leer, he viciously zipped out of the room.

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