the first chapter in a novel I’m writing about the suesmakers.
autopsy 235 (toxic girl)
“female, late teens
pretty as a dream, too,”
said the doctor
taking a sip of his coffee in the
linoleum floored break room
“what was weird was
when we opened her up
despite being pristine, hardly a dead girl,
on the outside, she was….
rotting on the inside.”
(images flash through his mind
the nurse vomiting while
“I only want to be with you”
played on the radio)
“the smell, the smell…
unlike anything I’d ever smelled, and I
have worked with medical waste for years”
he stared in the blackness in his cup
“strange story, sir” said
the wide-eyed student,
going back to flirting with the other M.D next
to him
in his own thoughts now, the doctor pondered that incident
the toxic girl
could they smell her out while she was alive?
So in an attempt to really get my writing going again.
I’ll be making myself write at least 3 poems and 4 page so prose a week.
This does not include revisions.
So my chapbook, Le Petite Mort, is available online now. You click through the image to download it
Honestly, it’s pretty old now and I dislike the first two poems now, but you can check it out.
“Female celebrity is different from male celebrity in that way,” says Louis, stroking his beard. “People are much more focused on who you are than what you do. For example, everyone was in love with Lilian back in the day, but no one actually listened to her. It was all about beautiful she was, how tragic she was, how sweet and feminine.” He laughs.
“What a load of crap! But I will say this, if you weren’t love with her- I wasn’t, for example,” his face turns a bit cold with that comment, “You did still want to protect her- from all the people in love with her.”
Melanie had called Gina Dolores Haze once, to the confused blinking of the girl.
Kat couldn’t help but feel sorry for such girls. Mel always said “It’s their fault their being taken advantage of,” but Kat remember her own middle school slut career, and suddenly felt this pain in her stomach and the sudden feeling everyone in the room was staring.
“Why do you hang out with me?” Kat asked one night as they sat as overlook in her car. She was a little drunk off the Prestige Whiskey, which tasted more like Prestige Strong Piss, and feeling bold.
Melanie smiled in that sly way of hers, and took a shot. She even took shots gracefully. “Because you’re smart, and you’ve got taste, and I don’t hate you.”
Kat wasn’t sure weather to be insulted or not, but then remembered all the people Melanie hated. Surely not being hated was flattering coming from Mel.
“I don’t hate you either,” she decided aloud.
“Audrey and Marilyn, that’s who they were,” he says, pulling out another photo. This one is of Anna and Lillian, black and white and grainy.
“People are always claiming that they’re the new Marilyn Monroe,” he says rather bitterly, lighting yet another cigarette. “They think some blonde curls and a pretty red pout make them a legend.” He sits down as I gaze at the photo, Lilian holding a cigarette and laughing, completely unaware of the camera. Her dark curls are down to shoulders, and she’s in some simple capris and basic t-shirt, but yet there is something Marilyn like to the photo.
“That’s not what made Marilyn, and that’s not what made Lily. A figure like that,” he take a long drag of cigarette “Needs to wear their heart on their sleeves. It doesn’t matter that Marilyn was an actress and Lilian was rock star, and neither knew what they were doing- they were both like little lost kittens, searching for the homes they felt they never had.” Another drag is taken as he looks down at another photo, this one of her posing in a deliberate parody of a model, her small mouth turning into a sly smile.
“Like Truman Capote said about Marilyn, she was a beautiful child.”
