Friday, November 28, 2014
I didn't remember what it was like to have two hands. It had been so long. You just get used to it.
I could not believe it when I got the call that it was going to happen. I was going to get a new hand. They found the perfect match.
I imagined looking normal. No more stares. No more whispers.
I would be beautiful. I would blend in.
It went well. It took right away. I am only a little bloated from the medicine that keeps my body from rejecting it.
It is a little bigger than my other hand.
It has been three months. The doctors are impressed with my progress. I am not so sure any more.
I asked them about what has been happening, but they don't listen.
No one is listening. No one will hear me.
It moves. It moves by itself. Not a twitch. A real movement, that I am not doing.
It does things.
It left me a message. It said "Leave". It wrote it. It wrote it to me.
I don't want it any more. I want it off.
I am free.
It is in the sink. It won't talk to me anymore. I am going to put it in the disposal.
I will shut it up forever.
Friday, November 21, 2014
I thought it was fake.
But, it's real.
Something fell and tangled in my hair. It's a piece of an ear. A person's ear. A human's ear. I don't know why... I don't know where it came from...
I am on a hike. All by myself.
I didn't tell anyone where I was going.
I don't know how long I have been standing here. I can't move. I see other parts mixed with the leaves on the ground. They are all small. Someone is cutting them into cubes.
What do I do?
Where? Which way? I don't remember how I got here. It all looks the same.
I was so stressed. I wanted to get away from the world, from people.
Now, I wish I was smothered... I wish I was squished by people... I wish I was not alone.
The pieces don't smell.
They must be fresh.
Friday, November 14, 2014
They look at us… to see if we look back.
If we do, it opens the door.
An Ouija board is a way of letting us look at them. It opens the door.
My roommate bought the game. My gut told me not to play. It’s just a game, but I didn’t want to take a chance.
Always listen to your gut. Always listen to your gut.
Last week the heart-shaped guiding piece fell on the ground. Before I could think, I touched it. I picked it up. When I set it down on the board.
Listen to your gut… Listen to your gut…
I moved it back, it tugged again. It wrote, “Hilf mir”.
I looked it up. It means “Help me” in German.
It attached to me. It was my own fault.
It won’t leave. It hangs on my back. I can feel it. It whispers all the time.
Some people look at it when I walk by them. They don’t know why.
But, it looks in their eyes.
Listen to me…
Friday, November 7, 2014
No sounds. None.
It woke me.
I looked out. Thick fog fills the sky, and covers the ground. No one is there. No movement. Nothing.
My gut hurts. It feels like a warning.
What happened? What is happening?
I go out. I stand in the middle of the street. I try to figure it out.
The ground... I see it on the ground. The houses have long thick dark drag marks coming from the front door, ending at the curb. It looks like blood.
It smells like blood. There are bits of flesh.
My gut hurts again. It is telling me to run.
On my knees, my eye catches something in the fallen leaves of scarlet and brown.
It's a finger. A small finger. I put it in my pocket. I can't leave it. It can't be alone.
I don't want to be alone.
My body is moving further away from the safety of my home.
I can't stop it.