Wednesday, May 18, 2016
White gauze bandages wrap my body like a mummy. My closet is my sarcophagus. Dark, narrow and airless, I panic and fall to the floor, bang my head on the door and wiggle around like worm.
My liver pulses to the beat of "Bang the Drum All Day" by Todd Rundgren. My mother had him over for breakfast. He broke into spontaneous song over runny eggs and burnt toast.
A maid, dressed like a robotic troll with green and pink hair, vacuums my room with a head of cauliflower. She looks at me through the looking glass so I can't steal her soul. I try to stop her from throwing out the pizza I have stored in the drawers of my armoire, but I can't get the words past the duct tape covering my mouth.
An Easter bunny in the corner complains about its missing eye and eaten left ear. I tell him he should be more worried about his melting tail. He insists on standing next to the tanning bed because white chocolate isn't real chocolate.
The cocktail of drugs I've taken from my father's medicine cabinet calm my nerves. I focus on cleaning and reassembling my guns. The smell of oil keeps me grounded. I point my .44 Magnum at my action figures and tell Captain America, "Make my day." My matte black Ruger snarls in response, blowing a hole into my bathroom.
Gerald, the green, hulking bodyguard my parents hired to be my keeper, locked all of my toys in the swimming pool because I don't like water. He said I can have them back when I take a shower. I stand in the center of the foyer, staring at the stained glass dome while he speaks. His words buzz in my head, slurred, unintelligible, yet threatening. Red mist moves in from the edges, swirling around me in a hot fog. It touches my naked body and I exploded in a thousand needles that pierce Gerald. He screams and falls to the black and white marble floor.
My phone rings.
God tells me to put Him on speaker so Puddles can hear Him. The Texas Teacup listens intently, cocking her head left and right, small pink tongue tasting the air. I don't understand the language they speak to each other, so I wait, sitting cross-legged, wrists resting on knees, counting my breaths to prove I have the patience of a true saint, to show the All Knowing I am worthy of any task He cares to bestow upon me.
My phone dies. I forgot to charge it.
Puddles walks over to me, her pink nails clicking across the floor. She opens her mouth and God's voice emanates: "Can you hear me, now?”
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