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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 66 | volume XII | May-June, 2009



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 66May-June, 2009
Prose

Busbuskalai

/2
p. 1
Senko Karuza

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The Little House Ghost

Busbuskalai has appeared on the sink, trouble’s about to begin. He’s getting ready to ruin my day. It begins early, like this, at breakfast. He’ll be so ruthless that he won’t even wait for the children to leave for school. Let them see what their father is like. I decide to put an end to all the shit that’s about to follow, so I abruptly get up from the table, jump at the sink, and smack him right on his face. The dishes fly to all sides, he’s stunned among the broken pieces. I wait to see if he’s going to leave me alone.
    “You’re completely nuts! Why don’t you get some help?” my wife screams hysterically.
    I restrain myself from speaking. If it stays at this, if Busbuskalai retreats, everything will be ok. It will be just a sudden attack of morning discontent. I close my eyes and wait, my head hanging over the sink. I see the children silently staring at me. I have to take it, this that they’re looking at their father and thinking he’s crazy. They don’t have their Busbuskalais yet.
    “What are you doing? What’s this?” my wife asks and approaches me, she puts her hand on my shoulder, I feel her getting into my face. I open my eyes, see her anxious eyes, full of anger and worry. She puts her left arm around me and wants to kiss me, but at the corner of my eye I see Busbuskalai pursing his lips at mine. I bite him suddenly on his cheek and my wife screams. She gathers the kids from the table and sends them to school. They hug in the hall and cry.
    I wait. Soon everything gets quiet.
    “Why do you do this to me?” I ask him. “Why can’t you, like all other normal ghosts, just sit quietly and watch at what’s going on in the house?”
    Busbuskalai buries his face in his hands and starts crying.
    “I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” he says. “You’re the only one in this house who simply can’t stand me.”

Why Do I Hate Myself

I don’t know exactly when and how our life took this turn. We didn’t arrange anything. Maybe we sometimes mentioned something similar as we analyzed events that made up our lives. Perhaps it snuck up on us, subconsciously, so to say.
    One morning I took a more






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