July 25, 2012

(Don’t forget that Organ Meat, Killing Me is available at http://turtleneckpress.com/our-chapbooks/. I’ll also have some other book news within the next few months.)




     (((the GIRL WITH THE RED PONYTAIL keeps the BOY WITH A YELLOW SOUL company in a dusty room)) i watch the boy closely. he eats dust, then licks his hands. he digs his feet into the dust and yanks them out, snapping the ankles in half. he hammers metal bars against his knees, shattering the bones. carefully, with a needle and thread, he stitches broken calcium back together. i slide towards him, my back against the floor. [what are you doing, i ask. why are you trying to mutilate yourself? it’s strange. don’t you want to walk again? SLENDER won’t be happy that you’ve destroyed parts of your body. it’s an unfortunate mistake. what will he do with you now? he can’t just carry you around. he can’t tilt you towards the sun and hope the celestial regenerating properties stick to your muscles.] i bang my head against the BOY WITH A YELLOW SOUL’s hip and sigh into his face. he rubs his hands against his face and drops his arms onto his half-sewn knees. [do you miss her, i ask.] he shudders slightly. [i know you must miss her, i say. i understand that. it makes me feel badly. i wouldn’t want to miss someone. does it bother you that i look so much like her? i don’t mean to look like her. but the SLENDER man made me from her rib. i can’t help my birthing process. i was pulled from her bone, tossed into an oven until my body set, then left in the dusty room until the SLENDER man was ready to unlock me. i wish the GIRL WITH THE BLOND BRAID could understand. it would be better if she had come voluntarily. i don’t want to be a kidnapper. but that was the deal. if she didn’t want to go to SLENDER, then SLENDER would have to take you. i’m very sorry. have you seen the shuddering leopard faces today? i left them in the closet but don’t hear them banging around.] i lift my head slightly and drop it into his lap. he pushes me away. [you smell like an infection, he says.] i sit up and turn to face him. [what kind of infection, i ask. a fresh one? the kind already turned gangrenous?] the BOY WITH A YELLOW SOUL shakes his head and stares at the dusty wall by his feet. [you didn’t answer me question, i say.] the BOY WITH A YELLOW SOUL raises his feet slightly and kicks the plaster until the walls crumble. dust swallows his ankles. he pulls his feet back and groans softly. [infections aren’t important, i say. but i have to know, do you really have a yellow soul? everyone says you do. but do you really? and what kind of yellow is it? does it have any red or green to it? is it a yellow hybrid? or do people just call it yellow when it’s really another color?] the BOY WITH A YELLOW SOUL closes his eyes. i shake his shoulders. his ribs crack. [you aren’t talking, i shout. you have to talk. we’re conversing. you can’t converse if the other person won’t speak. then you’re just talking at them. i don’t want to talk at you. i want you to say something. i want you to tell me about how yellow your soul really is.] i shake him again and the BOY WITH A YELLOW SOUL swallows hard. he presses his hands against his bowels and stares at the floor. [my soul is very yellow, he says. or, i think it is very yellow. i saw it in a mirror once. it was yellow in the glass. so i think it’s always yellow. but i can’t be certain. i never saw it again. it could be green, i guess. but i like it being yellow. it’s like sunshine.] the BOY WITH A YELLOW SOUL shrugs and his broken ribs rub together. he drops his arms. i scoot closer to him. [i liked you until the sunshine reference, i say. it’s so cliche. yellow is sunshine. what about yellow being dirty ice? or yellow being urine? or yellow being conjunctivitis and the mucus gunking up your eyes? why does yellow always have to be so positive? why are you forgetting about the gangrene?] the BOY WITH A YELLOW SOUL stares at me. his eyes narrow slightly and i force a smile. [you keep worrying about gangrene. that isn’t healthy. do you have gangrene in your body? does it make your shoulders fall apart, he asks.] i glare at him. [stop talking to me, i say.] [what’s going to happen to the GIRL WITH THE BLOND BRAID, he asks. what is the SLENDER man going to do to her?] i stand and rise onto my tiptoes. i prance around the BOY WITH A YELLOW SOUL, lifting my legs high in four directions, then dropping back onto my heels. [he’s going to eat her, i say.] [is he really? is that what the SLENDER man usually does, he asks.] [yes. but i’m lying. he eats everyone else. for some reason, he’s in love with her, i say. so he wants to keep her. so he wants to raise her over his head and store her somewhere in the rafters, so no dust can ever dirty her skin.] the BOY WITH A YELLOW SOUL presses his lips together. [what about you, he asks. why doesn’t the SLENDER man love you? you look just like her. you could be her, if the hair was the right color.] i shake my head. [no, i say. i can’t. because the SLENDER man made me from her rib. he is my creator and i am just a copy. how can he love me when i have part of his hands stitched into me?] the BOY WITH A YELLOW SOUL stares at the door. [do you think you could ever love me more than the GIRL WITH THE BLOND BRAID, i ask.] [is my name the BOY WITH A BLUE SOUL, he asks.]






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