October 30, 2007
I want to get this all off my chest. You know before I run away with my new lover and all. I just thought I’d let you know that I am listening to that song by The Cure you gave me. I think you only gave it to me because of that thing I say about them. What kind of band names themselves something so hopeful?
I hate you so much little darling. You and your furry green body, all sick and intoxicated. Flirting with whomever you will call yours this evening. When it was me, I adored it. Now every time I look at your neck I think about the time you forced me back into my car, stuffing all the bubbling, bulging fat into my tiny Ford focus. I never did thank you for that, the way you strained and jostled my cumbersome flabs…
She was writing a letter to whomever she could think of that remained in her life. She had happily found someone new, and they, so completely enamored with one another, had decided to elope and run away on a motorcycle. Very Che, but less polio.
The recipient of the letter, probably forgot how to read, she decided, and she abandoned the entire writing process.
“Writing to a party monster is entirely useless. Unless I sealed this letter with an absinthe kiss, he’d never be interested…”
For those of you who don’t know what a party monster is, it is actually best explained like a cookie monster. Fueled only by a love of parties, they think of nothing more, except the occasional word or letter of the alphabet. Party monsters do not overlook any means of party, getting “fucked UP” and any variation of such. Often times they have a tiny reminder of the shell of a human they used to be, before socialization became their primary interest.
The girl looked at herself in the mirror and tried desperately to recall more people to write to, people that could read.
Dear….
You were my… You just got away, didn’t you? We were never really anything, but I must confess, briefly, this time, that you had a nice little residence in my head, right next to daisies and beautiful sunsets. I never did lump you in the category with the assholes that explained things with their fists and dicks. Even if I did touch you, I don’t even remember because that’s not really what I wanted. Anyways, I am happy now and I hope you remember who I am when you get this. If not, then regard it as a junk mail much like a coupon for something you already have…
She nodded in approval at that letter. This particular someone was never really in her life, but why not? She figured. She decided to hop in the shower to prepare for that night.
A wedding! How enormously exciting. She would wear sexy white lace for such an occaision, under her business casual attire for the courthouse. Even if she wasn’t a “blushing bride” she’d still wear blush and make it appear that she was, somewhat, innocent and virginal.
Getting naked was always hard. The mirror would always tickle her in her most sensitive spots, and when it had a good grip, it would shatter, sending shards deep into her tissues. Scars and blood covered her body, but her new lover, made her feel like a princess. Such an unconditional love! He never criticized her for her tendencies to swallow entire grocery stores, and then entire pharmacies and spend the weekend vomiting. He’d just cuddle up to her arms and the weeping would cease. He’d kiss every wound on her arms and inner legs, and call her skinny even if she wasn’t.
She spoke out loud with the water running.
I am eloping tonight, you beautiful tiles. Hopefully I will spend the rest of my wonderful life bleaching you, and then waltzing downstairs to prepare dinner for my lovely husband. And we’ll have a pretty little child that will reap the benefits of a clean, germ-free shower. And on your walls, we will stick shaped sponges and help him learn the alphabet or something equally as worthwhile. And then when he is older, he will masturbate on you, mumbling names of the women or men he desires. I wont be mad, just ready with my bleach.
The tiles responded.
Better use all those soaps tonight honey. You wont be getting any, and certainly not making any offspring smelling like that. And you better do something about that hair of yours. Even though you change it, no one really likes it. It was better when you just let it drape over your floppy chest, all frizzy. Two men liked you then.
She should have been taken aback, but she decided they were probably right. After her cleansing, she would pin back her hair so no one could distinguish what it was really like. And focus more on her face.
Just then the mirror exploded with a gigantic, “NO!” Her face was showered with shards.
“It was a good thing I invested in such heavy duty tweezers. They will most certainly get these out before I have to get married.” She began plucking out the shards and using some antibacterial spread on the wounds. The stitches could wait.
She resumed her shower and then toweled dry. Then, a knock at the door.
Quickly, she laced up her lingerie and buttoned a blazer that matched a pencil skirt.
He walked in, and said,
“Honey, I have a surprise for you. I brought the judge here, so all we have to do is sign, and we’re together forever.”
As if in an ecstatic trance, she sat herself down at a table.
“Everything I have ever wanted. Complete happiness. The overwhelming sensation that someone loves me. Its my vows for you darling, take me now, you wonderful little pointed vile…”
She spoke as her necklace wrapped around her left arm real tight. Teeth pulled the chain into a tourniquet as her lover plunged into her exposed vein. The wave of wonderful. Then a shiver. Then a shake. Then frothy spit. Then nothing.
Something smelled like alcohol. Does hell smell like party monster? Her eyes peeked open. No! Fuck!
A hospital? No! This wasn’t the plan! Some adrenaline pulsed through her body and she broke form the restraints that held her arms down. She burst through the window and made a dash for the apartment. A cop was running at her gun drawn. An idea.
She elbowed a middle-aged woman and stole her purse, rummaged about until she found a lipstick. On her gown she scribbled the letters spelling “FOR YOU,” and then hid her hand in her gown. When the cop got closer she yelled that she would shoot. The cop, consequently was trigger happy, and shot her three times in the chest, for her threat.
She died with the second bullet.
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