Short Story 2

My mouth tastes like mold. Originally mislead, I thought it was the blueberries, but it’s my mouth. White and fuzzy. Squirming with death and a pristine sterile white wooly cleanness.

I can hear the dong dong dong of the grandfather clock pounding in my teeth. I look up at its stale sallow ashen face from the red oriental-ness of the rug to which my check is glued with stalactites of saliva and my skin groans as the sun glares at me through window blind eye slits, full power- ON.

I moan in response. Again. And again. I become a growl and every shimmering faded burnt out cell in my whale heavy harpooned corpse wills it to implode and heave me into blessed pure untainted night once more.

My howling grows fainter. I am moving away from myself. I can sense me in the sphere of hazy distance beyond myself. The magnetism is exceedingly strong and I am collecting the unnecessary into my most immediate planetary rings.

The unnecessary, the undesired, despised. Rejected littered forgotten gunk of the universe. When All I Want is You !

Where is that stupid shadow of a girl who tied the drooping pink ribbon around my lower intestines? My Aurora. OH Why can’t I trap you in my magnetosphere?

And now crying. Crying happens. My face just holds my eyes which are holes; soft holes for water to stream from. Disappointment leaks down into the mushy red oriental-ness underneath me, supporting me. My eyes feel like microscope lenses.

I am protruding into details I never knew existed. Outwards along the tops of the evenly mowed field of carpet. The dirt and dust build up between each tentacle thread secured at the base like underwater seaweed. Grimy and salt encrusted, ancient with the excrement of the world. The cracks. The lines- everywhere.

Oh just dance for me Aurora. With your lights reflecting on the wall, rainbows. I am seeing spots, long oblong spots of yellow everywhere. Like every one has been semi-dipped in it.

I feel exposed being naked here on this rug. I feel like there are people everywhere watching me. I am cold.

I am screaming all my words, my mouth is huge, all red lips and I feel like my eyes will never close. I am looking, I am soaking this flattened world up through my eyes. My tongue juts out like a plank and I trip on my words off the end of it. Lapping, splattering against the bald oriental head, rubbed raw by an allusion of me, stripped, as if by acid. I have burned into this rug. I have skinned it

All I want is to see your breasts, while you brush your teeth, one more time swinging back and forth with each stroke, serene and heavy, clocking time.

I suppose I was human after all.