My Head Is Like A Sieve
by
Gary Westlake
I'm going to tear myself apart if I can't get myself
together. It's been a few hours since the tab kicked in and
I'm I'm I'm not as I as I would like to be. No
hallucinations. People always ask me about that.
No, I don't see things that aren't there. If anything, things
look clearer, in sharper focus, almost crystalline and shiny shiny.
Echo echolalia stop this stop repeating stop saying stop.
Calm. Center myself. No hallucinations. I
touched it. Felt the hair, coarse, not fake. The
eyes blinked. Red eyes. Still look at me.
Blinking.
I read about this. This thing. Appeared someplace,
West Virginia I think, before a bridge collapsed, killed lots of
people. Vanished after. God those wings are
huge. No arms. Just those wings. No head
either. God no head! Just big red eyes in a hairy chest.
It spreads its wings big moth's wings and flies away away from me down
the subway tunnel, flapping echoing echoing all around.
Rumbling. Train coming at last. No
hallucination. I touched it. Can't be.
On the train. Rocking and rumbling. Fluorescent
light shiny white making everything clear and shiny. Even
those two men sitting there, staring at me, dressed in black
suits. Men in black. Not like in the
movie. Suits too tight. Skin of face an odd
shade. They get up next stop. Out the
door. One mutters something that sounds like "Power...low...."
Clickety clack down the track. Almost home. I hear
a horn before the crash.
Head hurts. I touch it, feel something moist, sticky, soft
like Jello. Seats above me. Can hardly see them in
the dark. Bodies everywhere, blood blood. Touch my
head again, feel edges of a hole, moist sticky soft Jello in the center.
All hallucination. Must be. Please make it be....
THE END
Gary Westlake is a
two-dimensional being living in a three-dimensional world.
E-mail:
Gary Westlake
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