drabbles

on bad eyesight.

I squinted at the spider-like words crawling across the page, and was momentarily reminded of the small pieces of string and gunk that often clung to my clothes like a lifeline. Those small objects I often mistook for unfortunate insects or bugs and crushed under a merciless finger—only to realise my blunder a second later. 

Like those times, I meticulously studied the indecipherable words sprawled untidily on the paper, ever-so-often discerning a few smudged letters as my eyes darted back and forth. 

Thinking I'd finally solved the mystery of what the jottings claimed to convey, I would move on to survey the next stretch of pencil scrawls. 

However, I would soon discover that the scribbles in fact proclaimed another definition—as testified by the rare blessedly legible "a"s and "the"s which stuck out like sore thumbs when placed amongst the phrases I had already gathered. 

Absently I registered that in both cases I mistakenly assume I have extinguished a threat to my sanity—only to find out I have wasted my effort for nothing, all thanks to the grudge that tiny handwriting and bits of junk seemed to have formed against me.