Tuesday, October 8, 2013

The Doormouse Talks to Himself

Kourtney was a lovie, and lovies never die. So she did her face up pretty and drew on a lipstick smile. And stepped out of her window, over rain-slate coloured Paris. And broke her femur and her fingers, when she hit the concrete street. The men who passed so brusquely, stopped here and there to kick. They broke her nose and crushed her eye, and one boot smeared her lips. But Kourney was a lovie, and lovies take revenge. They do not cry from button eyes, they simply rise again and again. And again.

When Marcus left his building, his suit was much too thin. To keep his large frame held so tightly here within. The seems upon his shoulders, split open wide and white. And once his pants burst from his frame he stalked as such a sight. For not flesh or bone within him honed but rather, there dwelled there. A hurricane blasting fierce and red streaks of blood here and there. The people nearest Marcus, had but a chance to shout. Before he burst, and ate them whole, and like a light gone out.

Turn now the page to Jamie that rascal of  a jack, young Jamie who lived all Jamie's life inside of Jamie's hat. The hat was square and yellow, with an orange sort of smell. And Jamie never knew another, until the day Jamie fell. And tumbled hard upon the ground, head over toe so brisckly. Jamie smeared across what was left of Marcus who had ate Kourney. And Jamie covered in Marcus and Kourtney then began to cry. And ask for Jamie's mummy and ask for a lullaby. But Jamie's mummy did not answer. Jamie saw another figure step out. For the dark of the night was the fourth person there, and it took Jamie, Marcus, and Kourtney, ate them all without a shout.

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