‘You’re feeding me rubbish again,’ said the heart, aware of a constriction and some unhealthy heat. ‘If you don’t stop, I will send it onto our face.’
‘You already have,’ said the brain. Look how people are avoiding him.
‘Him is us, as well you know,’ said the heart.
‘I know and you don’t, said the brain as I have the eyes and all you do is beat in your fleshy cage.’
‘Very poetic for a brain,’ sighed the heart, before receiving a fresh battery of thoughts through those fickle allies, nerves. ‘If I think it’s true, it’s true,’ said the heart. You’re always going on about truth.’
‘Don’t be daft, said the brain. It’s only a feeling and hearts don’t think.’
‘That’s cruel,’ said the heart, basting in a fresh set of agonies.
‘What to do then, eh?’ said the brain.
‘Or how to be.’
‘Oh, very radio 4,’ said the brain.
‘Don’t be sarcastic.’
‘Sarcasmos’ said the brain, pompous, ‘from Ancient Greek, meaning that which is not true.’
‘Know all.’
‘I read it somewhere.
‘Smart arse.’
‘Don’t bring her into it, we’ll get constipation.’
‘Right,’ said the heart. ‘Every time something good happens it won’t be going to you anymore.’
‘What good will that do you?’ said the brain.
‘Us,’ snapped the heart. ‘I’ll keep it all to myself, until you learn to work together.’
And the heart beat, and the brain thunk, having something new to think about.
Jan Woolf