It’s five past seven. Cody couldn’t move. He’s five feet under thoughts, a spelling queen sits on top. He’s uptight, can’t spell, but he knows. Parapraxis, contrary to fact, it’s business as usual. Lies matter only if they affect the dearest in kind. Oh, dire consequence, there is an affected but if I can’t hear, can’t touch, it’s not there. Cody knew it, but it didn’t matter. The queen overheard, he spilled his tongue after a humble request from an ailed servant. The queen, quite angry, buzzes around, inquest, bosses around, request that he spells what’s been done, parapraxis, you lie and I’m gone. Cody was afraid, alone he couldn’t face death but pressed under her, breath would no longer be there, Neither, either, as long as he hides her memory, spells whatever: Desiderata! Garrulous! He’ll annoy her enough to be left alone yet why was he afraid to be five feet under if at the end she would always leave him alone?