Who are you?

Online, we read a story.
Of a killer who was gory.

He made some noise
By killin’ some boys,
And he kept their belts
But buried their pelts.
His secret was intense.

When the last boy escaped,
A deal was made.
And Huang was sadly sent to his grave.

We hate men too. Killing 17 will definitely do!
The jig is up.
It’s time to confess.
Look around at your unfixable mess!

We’ve found you finally,
Despite the hard chase.
We have no fears!
We brought the mace!

THE JIG IS UP.

.

By Sammy James and Cat

How long have I been here? Seven months, at the least. Has it been a year? Two? It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten who I am.

I don’t remember what kind of bug I am. Trapped on this spider web, my body hanging topsy-turvy, upside-down, and sideways. I have six legs, a long, brown body, but nothing very distinguishing. I’m not a roach—I’m too small for that.

But how long have I been here? It must be over a year. You see, I am caught in the most unfortunate of places: between the sink and the toilet. You know, the nook of the bathroom that no one ever cleans. I was completely forgotten. The spider never came back to eat me. He spun his web and forgot about it. The boy that used the toilet never noticed me. Guys never use toilet paper when they pee and they never wash their hands.  He never saw me; I was out of his way.

Then a girl came over one day. She came into the bathroom for the first time. It must have been her first time in the apartment. I have never seen the other rooms, but I can guess they are as well kept as the bathroom. The first thing she did was look around. She looked disgusted. Her eyes surveyed the moldy shower curtain, the spit stained mirror, the toothpaste encrusted sink. The boxes of razor blades, the dusty counter, the mildew towels. Open bottles, used breathe-rite strips stuck to the counter, a toothbrush in the tub. She reached for the toilet paper.

She gasped. She saw me. Lying there, pathetically, on the floor between the toilet and sink. Her toes curled in their socks and she backed away. What was she afraid of? I’m dead. But she wasn’t afraid. She was disgusted. She quickly snatched the toilet paper and used it to brush off old pee stains and pubic hair. She turned around to throw it away—there was no trashcan. She put it in the pot instead. She took another piece of paper, eyeing me all the while, and used it to put down the seat. Even so, she didn’t sit on it. She hiked.

The entire time she peed, she had her eyes on me. She was making sure I wouldn’t move. Those eyes were so unnerving. What was I going to do, crawl into her panties?

She flushed and washed her hands vigorously. She went to reach for an old, dirty towel crumpled on the counter, paused, and dried her hands on her jeans instead. She turned the light off and went to the other room.

I heard her laugh and say, “You know there’s a dead bug in your bathroom?”

“No,” he said uncaringly.

She visited me for seven months. A few times after the first encounter, she gave in and cleaned the bathroom herself. She scrubbed, mopped, and disinfected every inch of that room—except for the nook between the sink and the toilet. I don’t know why she didn’t throw me away or dust up the cobwebs. I know she didn’t forget. Every time she peed, she kept her eyes on me. To make sure I wouldn’t get away.

Then, in the fall, she stopped coming over. Through those seven months, her own things had collected in the bathroom: razors, shaving cream, lotion, tampons, and face wash. One night, all those things were gone. Except for the face wash. The boy forgot to give it back to her. He forgets a lot of things.

I found Jesus. He’s got the long hair and beard. He’s got a gap in his front teeth and wears glasses. He studies math or science or law. He just took the LSATs. He also just shaved his mustache. He still has the beard. I’ve seen him without the beard and the hair—trust me, he looks better with it. He scoffs and he smirks at me. He likes to challenge my ideas. He never says I’m wrong. He sometimes makes me feel stupid, but he sometimes makes me feel smart. He’s polite and he smiles and he always wants me to sit near him. He has redeeming qualities.

I cried. I didn’t know he saw me cry. The next time I saw him, he asked me if I was feeling better. He told me I wouldn’t be lonely forever. He told me I’m beautiful.

I like Jesus, but he’s kind of a creeper.

Heating the oven,
Baking him lemon chicken–
Dead fly on the stove.