Journal: She Opened up Her Hair With Her Hands

From my perspective, getting drunk and falling into a forest where I’d heard a girl would be makes a whole lot of sense. There is really no reason I wouldn’t do that. But if I was to try and set that stage a thousand times over, I would be a little surprised if a girl showed up once.

The stars refused to move at all, and it was cloudy anyway. She fell asleep on a cold, damp bench, with her cheek in a bit of a puddle. Shivering and waking up every other minute. Her bed was only a few blocks away and the only thing more surprising than her showing up was that she didn’t leave.

I would have been lonely without her back to keep me company. It was a superb specimen, complete with spine and blade of shoulder. Actually two of the latter, if you can believe it. I kept my hand pressed gently between them a while — long enough that I couldn’t feel it anymore — and thought about the possibility of becoming fused to her. Sure, life with only one hand sounds a little tricky, and it would be at first, but people adapt. I decided not to worry about it. Plus, I had a wonderful new girl attachment at the end of my wrist, and I’d be certain to find all manner of uses for it.

My hand rose and fell with her breathing. I felt that I was in control of her lungs, playing them like an accordion. I made sure to keep a steady, sensible rhythm going, that her blood would beat bright red and shuttle little parcels of THC and alcohol into her brainparts. Sweet dreams, or whatever. It’s nice to feel that you’re helping.

I realized I was still drunk, and overtired. My feet were soaking wet, legs half-eaten by chiggers. About as comfortable as I’ll ever be.

Irreversible Mistakes