The Five Lost Senses of Carl

  What Carl doesn’t know—but can only suspect—is that he has been writing (albeit in a child-like scrawl with squiggles and loops) and someone has been there to patiently decode his symbols.

  Inside Carl’s brain volcanoes are ready to erupt. Every sense he’s lost has turned to boiling, anxious magma. Just beyond his forehead is a whirling diamond drill bit. It’ll push through the skin easily enough, though the real fun won’t begin until the bit meets his bare skull. Carl will sense pressure then, but he won’t be able to confirm it. He won’t know his head is wedged into a vice, a vice Sabrina has installed at the end of his kitchen counter just below the drill press. Carl won’t know he’s on his kitchen counter, and that his feet and arms are tied with rope. The idea is to keep him from flailing unexpectedly, which could result in his body—from the neck down—slipping from the countertop, which could result in the subtle shifting of his head—despite the cold snugness of the vice—which could result in the diamond drill bit skewing off course as it burrows into his skull.

  At one millimeter Carl will taste honey as the pink buds on his tongue burst open like morning flowers.

  At two millimeters Carl will see ghosts dancing through the gauzy white veil that has grown over his eyes.

  At three millimeters Carl will smell smoke, though he won’t know it’s bone smoke. His nostrils will flare, greedy.

  At four millimeters Carl will hear the sobering motor of the drill press and the sweet, measured breaths of a woman focusing on her work.

  At five millimeters Carl will feel the countertop beneath him, the cool marble, the biting tightness of the rope around his wrists and ankles, the pressure in his forehead, and the small, comforting hand against his cheek. It will be a comfort that trumps the pain he feels, though the pain will be welcome, too.

  At six millimeters Carl will scuff rust colored pebbles at the bus stop. It’ll be his first day of school. His mother will shift behind him, fighting the urge to smooth his hair, to touch his shoulders one last time. Carl will raise his leg to climb the first step of the school bus, his backpack sagging low with a foil-wrapped peanut butter & jelly sandwich and also a banana, and his shoulders will brush the green vinyl of the seats as he shuffles shyly down the aisle.

  He’ll look for Liz, though he won’t know her name yet. She’s the girl he’s seen at playgrounds and grocery stores, the girl with the lazy eye. She’s the girl whose laugh makes his stomach feel funny good. She’ll be in the last seat on the left, staring out the window. She’ll be hiding something under her hands, something cylindrical and smooth, something she took from him once because he didn’t need it anymore, something that always got in their way.

  Carl will sit beside her, and for a moment their knees will touch. Liz will blush and he’ll blush, too. And then the bus will lurch forward.

  **

  BIOS:

  Mel Bosworth is the author of the fiction chapbook When The Cats Razzed The Chickens (Folded Word Press, 2009), the novella Grease Stains, Kismet and Maternal Wisdom (Brown Paper Publishing, 2010) and the novel Freight (Folded Word Press, 2011). His writing has appeared or is forthcoming in elimae, PANK, Per Contra, Wigleaf, BLIP Magazine, Annalemma, decomP, Dark Sky Magazine, >kill author, Emprise Review, and Night Train among others. Mel lives, breathes, writes and works in Western Massachusetts.

  Christy Crutchfield writes and teaches in Western Massachusetts. her works have appeared in Mississippi Review online, Everyday Genius, PANK, the Goodman Project and Wigfleaf, among others. She is the Fiction Editor for Dark Sky Magazine. She blogs about writing and other monsters at https://www.thehopelessmonster.blogspot.com