Okay so a girl has been appearing in my dreams that I do not know, have never seen before but is quite nice and kind of cool and in the dream she seems to be in one of my classes, but is clearly not in real life. Bizarre.

What are you up to?
Cutting fingernails.


Mistakes hurt twice the second time around

Far from sexy.

My thighs touch
My stomach hangs out like a belt distended and large
My chin does not exist.

This is who I am?
I am not ugly.
I am ugly.
I am not ugly.
But I am far from sexy.
So far from sexy
So far from being with someone without the titters of
Gasp, look
Look at that
Look at him.
What is that
So far from being with you, and not bringing you shame.

So not, so not something to be proud of .
So far from sexy.
I can live like this.
I can’t live with someone like this.
Too cruel, too sad, too humiliating
Seen with me.
Is that he, miserable ugly
Fat by beautiful.

I don’t want to be that person.


I hate myself.

She came in through the door. Small, young, beautiful, elegant as any 20 year old could be. Pushed through the door, fell into his arms, her lips pressed against his, her dress floating away like wisps of smoke on the wind, she melted into him, loving him, desiring him, and hten as soon as she’d appeared she vanished, replaced only by the shallow grope of a hand against the nothingness of his apartment, chopsticks still clutched in his fingers. He opened his eyes again, disappointedly straightening up his position. This was all, he thought ruefully. But, in a small twinge of hopeful silliness, he put the chopsticks in the paper box of Chinese food and set it down on the table, his robe draping around his knees. He strode up to the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob, and then with a quick yank, pulled it open.

Of course, she was not there. Disappointed, he closed the door again. turning back to his kitchen table, he flipped through the newspaper, his eye pawing over where he’d cut out the coupon for Chinese food that he was now eating.

Pregnancy

Pee.

Shake

Wait.

She counted out the seconds. Her periods had stopped, this much she knew. A month, and they had disappeared. Now the scattered husks of empty pregnancy test boxes laid scattered on her bed, pink and purple labels done up in elegant florid cursive with exclamation marks joyously enthusing ‘Pregnancy!’ all along the outside. They were the only place where joy was to be found in the room. The egg timer dinged, the small plastic dial clicking into place with the cheap plastic click of objects purchased under a median price range. She ran over to the sink and picked up the small plastic stick.

It wasn’t there yet. But slowly, surely, with the inevitable creeping of a glacier the pink dots slowly filled in. Dot, dot, dot, a dot off of the central minus sign, and then another, until finally the entire symbol was filled in: a plus. She turned the stick over in her hands, rotating the small cylinder with her thumb and forefingers. Her reflection looked up at her in the mirror, stared back with worried, sallow eyes, and then turned towards the door and moved back into her bedroom. She fell into the cold, stiff sheets of her comforter, the soft bounce of the mattress pushing her up a few inches before she finally settled down onto the bed. She stared blankly at the ceiling, thoughts swirling through her head. Over on the bedstand, her cellphone sounded out a small rattle as it vibrated on the table. She picked it up and took a look at what it said. “WELL?” it asked in large block letters. It was her sister. She flipped the phone open to the keypad, then flipped it close again, thumbing her fingers over the cold plasticine sheen of the touchscreen.

She let her arms fall to her sides and her phone dropped limply out of her hand, careening gently off the side of her bed and falling to the floor with a muted clatter. Well she thought. Her expression changed, and then she thought it again, a heavier tone in her mind, Well. She stared up at the blank whiteness of her ceiling, the faint up-side down mushroom shape of her ceiling lamp and lost herself into the emptiness, the cold muted pastels of the grey afternoon sky, the dank sodden rain that poured down around her as she imagined her room filling up with water until she swam around in the depths, swimming and drowning like a fish. She ran her fingers over her stomach, running her fingers underneath her shirt, feeling up and down along the contours of her navel. How odd, she thought to herself. She continued staring at the upside-down mushroom. It had as many answers as she did, she thought to herself ruefully. She didn’t want to get up. So for a few more minutes, she continued staring at the ceiling, the soft pastel greys of the overcast sky filtering softly through her window.

A bullet ripped through another guard’s eye, impacting the cornea, popping it like a balloon, little flecks of eye fluid splashing out like a raindrop.

Suicide Fantasy

She wiped her tears away, soft sleeves brushing roughly against the saline residue on her skin. A few gasps, deeper breathes, and her breathing calmed down. And then, silence, tear streaked eyes and reddened cheaks, tired and exausted she sat on the couch, a slump in her shoulders and a gun in her hand. She imagined it, the motion lancing through h her mind. The cool, comforting cold of the gun against her chin.

She pressed the gun into her chin.

The cool hard click of the hammer back against the chamber.

The hammer clicked back

And the final, quick burst of hot from the muzzle as the bullet rushed through her chin, exiting through her brain.

Her finger moved, hesistated, lingered upon the trigger, waiting it, willing it, hesitating upon the image.

The bullet entered through her chin, hot gases of the bullet gunpowder charring and burning her skin as the bullet passed through her skin. Small specks of burning bits of gunpowder impacted into the skin under her jaw, leaving small sizzling craters in her skin, singing hairs and moving outwards in small little waves as the gunpowder hit her skin like meteorites impacting the surface of the moon. The bullet traveled through the roof of her mouth, shattering the bone and sending it spinning out into a radial pattern, a pirouette of bone fragments as they spun with peculiar synchronicity through the air, bouncing off her tongue and finally embedding into her cheeks. The bullet passed through her nasal cavity, shattering the blood vessels inside and causing blood to stream from her nose as though she’d had the world’s worst case of nosebleeds that a person could ever see. It passed her eyes, impacting the nerve and sending a quick jolt of yellow to her vision, her last thought before she would die would be yellow: yellow: everything would be yellow. And then the bullet touched the brain.

It took addition first. One two three four five, add two numbers together to make another number. Cindy, what is the answer? She stared blankly at her teacher, she didn’t know. She couldn’t add. Three millimeters up. She was four, she was learning to ride a tricycle, she ran into a rock and fell over and skinned her knee. Her dad ran over and carried her back to the house, and then the house disappeared, and her dad disappeared, the wound disappeared, and then it was gone. Four millimeters up. Blood rushed into the cavity the bullet left in its wake, short circuiting the neurons left behind, killing them off in a wave of acidic blood. A wave of blood stormed in towards her brain cavities, and her brain sent off another neuron. 7th grade, the school fair. Little Jimmy Parkson was showing her how to shoot a gun. She paid 5 dollars, shot three times, and missed every time. He gave her his duck. She kept it until it fell apart, which was three months after that.

The bullet ripped through her brain, a trail of charred and blackened neurons, sparking in the air behind it. a millimeter before the skull it touched it, pushed through, and the last neuron made it way into her consciousness. It was three weeks ago, two weeks ago, a day. He had gone, in cruel and unhappy ways he had gone and left her alone. And there had been a gun, a bullet, the cool embrace of a stainless steel muzzle pressed up hard against here vein. And then there had been a release, a quick burst of gas, and then it had disappeared.

The bullet exited through her brain, a small star of bone erupting out around it as the bullet sailed away from the earthy confines of her hair, long lashes of black hair reaching up to the ongoing rocketship, flying up into the air upon the waves of dreams, emotions, the great tunneling rocket that had made its way through the earth and off into space. And behind it behind, it all there was she, she a girl, she a person, it a gun, and this a moment.