The Tracey Fragments
Maureen Medved
Language: English
Pages: 160
ISBN: 088784779X
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
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faster. Tiny black thorns sprung out. Miss Dorchester was the circus freak hired by the school to teach socials. Because Miss Dorchester had no arms or legs, the principal, Mrs. Sakamoto, wheeled her into the class. David Goldberg — that skinny hairless little prick — had just taped the answers to the test onto the front of Dorchester’s desk where everybody could see them but her, but not before he jumped to the front of the class and said, “Does anyone know what the girl’s tits look like?” He
one to talk to. Because of the night. Because the only sound were their lungs beating away in the other room. So what I did was, I crawled over the bars of Sonny’s crib. I crawled up next to Sonny. And he was soft and warm. His breath the only thing burring against my neck. I was scared to touch the ball of wet, afraid it might break. Sonny might fall out or disappear. The fat man moaned at my ear, inside me. His zipper whined. He squeezed my shoulders with his hands, pushing me down to the
my fault. IT WAS THE GIRL’S FAULT. “Come on,” Sonny yelled. “Hypnotize me again.” Twirl. Bark. Run. Twirl. Bark. Stop. Run. Run. Run. He barked, down on all fours, twirling away on the river ice. Like he believed me. Billy Speed must’ve been there the whole time. I didn’t notice at first. He leaned against his car that’s three colours of rust — red, brown, green — trembling, exhaust foaming out. He looked at the trees and the sky. I didn’t even know Billy Speed liked the trees and the sky. HOW
tangled with the wind in the trees. Then It heard something. Sticks. Glass breaking. Something. But It didn’t stop. It didn’t stop, tightening up Its leg and his leg tightened against Its and — It could’ve pushed him away and smashed the door open; It could’ve burned a cigarette into his face until the flesh got black, curled, and separated like newspaper pages — but before It knew, he pushed It back on the vinyl seat and crawled in. Its hole. The whole of It. He fit inside. Its eyes were
“There is no other therapist,” she said. “I just want you to understand that your recovery is, ultimately, your responsibility.” Then I said the only thing I could think of. “I could clean the house while you’re at work and when you get home maybe we could sit by the fire and have a little chat.” Then she stood up, looking angry and confused. “You’re going to have to leave,” she said. “Or I’m going to have to call your parents. Would you like me to call them?” “Are you going to stop seeing