ham

"It seems a very big decision to me, deciding whether or not to run away and join the circus..."

Then it was quiet. The warm orange light from the closet made everything look, feel, delicate. I hadn't had a day that good in a long time. Forever. No one else home, just me and brother. For once, I could hold on to that good feeling long enough to tell him I wanted to die, had been wanting to for so long.

Because isn't that the point of every relationship: to be known by someone else, to be understood?

"Rules of life," Angus said. "Be true to your friends, don't cheat at cards, don't piss on the less fortunate, and don't steal people's skeletons."

"She collects words," said Mabel.

"What kinds of words?"

"Women's words. Dirty ones."

And everything that had happened to me in Epstein's world had only confirmed that certain privileged men existed in a liminal space outside the law, no matter how dastardly their behavior.

She turned and stalked out of the kitchen, snatching a knife up as she went. I followed warily, wondering if she planned to take me outside and stab me and what on earth I would do if she did.

Probably I would have to fire her for that.

"They say mushrooms spring up where the Devil walks," said Angus sourly. "And where fairies dance."

"Do you think they ever get the two confused? The Devil shows up to a fairy ball, or finds himself mobbed with elven ingénues?"

He gave me a look from under his eyebrows. "You shouldn't joke about fairies. Sir."

"Oh, very well. As long as I can still joke about the Devil."

Now, for the first time, I understood what all the fuss was about. How something beautiful could strike your heart, move you, bring you down on your knees and then, somewhat perversely, you wanted to fuck that pure, beautiful thing.

I suppose I was at least consistent when it came to boyfriending. Much like I'd been consistent at sports in school. Which is to say, terrible in every aspect.

If I warn them, if I don't, I'm a traitor either way, to one thing or another. So if loyalty is impossible, what do I strive for instead?

Once a hound, always a hound.

"I'm sorry," she says, mouth smeared cherry-red with blood. "I'm sorry." The bird lies limp, chest cavity cracked open, and the pulsing slick mess of organs and muscle spread before her like a meal.

The girl looks at me, and it is as though I am broken open like the carcass in her hands, and every small, unspeakable thought is known.

All she says is:

"I was so terribly hungry."

tzzzzzz ... . . zzt ... tzt ... . ee hee hee hee ...

... ... ... . beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep ... ... . . brblrb ... ...

... ha ha ha HA HA HA ha ha ... ...

... ock ... to ... ... . tchrrr ... ... ... ... hee hee hee ...

... ... ... . . all ... . . ien ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... grrRRrr ...

... dream ... . of ... ... ... ... . tchk ... btz ... . beeeeeeeeeeeep ... ... . .

... ... ... ... hrmr ... mrf ... ... ... . like a ... ... ... . .

... ... . as ... srrrrRRRRRRRRR ... .

... AaAAhhHHHhhh ... ... ... ... ... . . tnk ...

... . be ... hind ... ... ... ... . you ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... btz ... ...

(Masaaki Nakayama PTSD Radio, Volume 6)

Every gynecologic condition is linked by a common thread: a gross lack of information.