here - Jersey Devil Press

Unfortunately for my vestigial tail, Helena and I had long ago
broken up.
At first, I considered the possibility that I was insane. But I didn’t
feel insane (except for the fact that I heard my tail speak).
Supposedly those who are crazy do not ask if they are crazy. I was
relying on that one concept.
Over the following days, I began to wonder if I had really
heard anything. After all, I didn’t hear the voice say anything else. I
soon brushed off the idea that I had a talking tail.
Then, a few weeks later on a hot summer afternoon, I was
riding the mid-town bus. It was crammed with people. Suddenly
my tail blurted out “Monkeys can’t type Shakespeare!” as if it had
been choking on the words. I gasped and turned around quickly --
wondering who on the bus had yelled. Then as I saw that everyone
else was still in a dull-eyed commuter trance, I realized that it was
my tail. I glanced down at my rear-end, then quickly looked out the
window as those around me seemed a bit concerned.
I realized no one else could hear it. I also began to consider that
my tail was not only talking, but that it also wanted to say
something.
“I want… hmm, dum-ta-dum… it’s a long road… one, two, three…
D, E, F, G… hark, the herald angels sing…” my tail babbled.
The progression of my tail’s linguistic abilities was not unlike a
child’s, only it didn’t use babbling as a way to test the ability of its
mouth to form words. My tail has no mouth. I have no idea how it
creates words. I don’t hear the voice in my head. I hear it as if its
voice were coming through my ears. My tail’s use of language
followed a very steep learning curve. It began with two and four
word sentences. Then it quickly leapt up to paragraphs, chapters,
and novels of words. Even though I understood that my tail was
trying to say something to me, I also think -- like a child -- it just
enjoyed the process of talking. As time went on it just talked and
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