Twist Turn and Burn, Page 2

Acne but I don't know if I can look past your gigantic ego. Sorry I was “gawking” at you, but you don't have to sic your little gimpy brother on me and make me beat him up so everyone thinks I'm the asshole of the year.

  Cale,

  You are the asshole of the year. How dare you bring up Roger's arm? He was born that way. It's called a deformity, like your personality. Ewww, like I'd go out with you ever. Deformed person hater.

  Betty,

  Pointing out that someone has a deformity doesn't mean you hate them for it, it just means that you have eyes. And why wouldn't you go out with me? What is this “Ewww” business? I'm not “ewww”. I'm awesome. I'm super awesome and way too awesome to date a zit faced narcissist like you.

  Betty,

  I didn't know Mr. Rasczak was right behind us. Sorry. I also didn't know he was going to read that note aloud in class. I'm sorry everyone laughed when I called you a zit faced narcissist. I didn't mean it. I just can't believe you called me “Ewww”. I think you're pretty. I've always thought you were pretty and never “Ewww.” What the hell is “Ewww” about me?

  Cale,

  Me and my zit will get through it. We've bonded over this class period. I'm going to call him Harold. We're best friends. Okay, I shouldn't have said “Ewww” but I was pissed off about Roger. He's a good kid and if he had two good arms he would've fought you. Poor kid. He can't get into proper fights because of that arm. You think I'm pretty? Really?

  Betty,

  Of course I think you're pretty. I wouldn't be staring at you if I didn't. I know that Roger's arm is a sore subject. I tell you what, if you want us to fight, I can tie an arm behind my back so we'll be even. I won't sleep the night before so my reaction time will be slower and that should make up for the age difference.

  Cale,

  That would make Roger so happy! We have boxing gloves at home. I could make a little ring in the back yard and officiate. I'll make us lunch. It could be our first date. This Saturday?

  Betty,

  You mean it? It would be a date? Of course. Of course we can do it this Saturday.

  Cale,

  Yay! I'll tell Roger. I'll make us something very nice for lunch, something manly for after the fight. Do you like ribs?

  Betty,

  I love ribs! Can you wear that yellow dress you wore last week? That would be most excellent. Also, should I throw the fight? I can do that. I don't mind losing to a guy with one arm if it makes you happy.

  Cale,

  No, better fight as hard as you can. Roger doesn't like charity. And yes, yellow dress it is. Bell's about to ring. See you sixth period?

  Betty,

  Yes. Of course. Want to walk to class together?

  Cale,

  I'd love to.

  Betty,

  Me too.

  Cale,

  See you then.

  Betty,

  Harold and I look forward to it. Kisses!

  The Writer

  She sat down at her desk, an idea fresh in her head. She had a new story to tell. She clicked and clacked on the keys. The story flowed from her into the computer.

  But once she began, she couldn't stop.

  Her hands ached and still she wrote. Her fingers bled, and still she wrote. The tendons in her wrists snapped like taut rubber bands but her fingers struggled on to tell her story. Her hands fell apart. She lost a finger here, a finger there. She typed with her bloody stubs. When they were worn down to nothing, she spoke.

  She used her tongue to hit record on the tape player. She picked up where the written words left off. She talked for hours. Her voice went hoarse. Nodules developed on her vocal chords. She began to cough blood but still she spoke. She hugged her bloody arms to her body and told her story until her jaw locked in place.

  Even though there was no one in the room, she began to blink. Unfortunately for her, she didn't know Morse Code. She used a complex system where she would blink the number of a letter. One blink was “A”, twenty-six blinks was “Z”. A word could take a full minute to blink out.

  Her body hunched over. Her hands had gone gangrenous. Her jaw, still locked, kept her from eating or drinking. She began to shrivel. And still she blinked. She blinked the last pages of her story until she reached the last six letters, “T-h-e-E-n-d.”

  Then her body fell to the floor in one shriveled lump. Her arms were useless. She was nearly starved. Her hair was falling out. Her jaw had finally unlocked but the inside was a desert. Her tongue was small and looked like coral. Her eyelids were torn and bleeding. Small droplets of blood stained the whites of her eyes. And still, she smiled. She'd gotten it out. She'd gotten it all out.

  Today I Made

  March 23

  Dear Diary,

  Screw everyone that said I needed a degree to be a scientist! I am beyond school, beyond mortality.

  After years of horrendous failures, suffering the jibes of my peers, and being ridiculed by my own mother, I've finally, well almost finally, managed to splice two life forms together.

  Admittedly, my last attempt at a snake/rat was a devastating blow. I think attaching two of the same ends was a bit of a blunder. The bigger mistake might have been using two heads and not two rears.

  Apparently, rat and snake are species that are destined to hate each other. When they first came out of anesthesia, they were docile. They were even nuzzling their noses together. Then the drugs wore off and a whole hell of a lot of biting began. The two were only alive together for ten minutes when the snake end tried to eat the rat end but one cannot ingest themselves. It turned into an ouroboros of sorts, but instead of symbolizing something recreating itself (which would have thematically fit with my study and made my memoir literary enough to be picked by Oprah for her book club) it choked to death on its new half (not a good omen but one I am willing to ignore). I'm sad to say that even as a scientist, I found the whole thing disgusting.

  That is all history, in the past, destined to be forgotten by everyone in the light of my new accomplishment. Today, I may have finally achieved my goal. I spliced together the head and torso of a tiger with the hind end of an alligator.

  Do NOT ask where I got the animals. Don't. I mean it. You don't want to know. Okay, I'll tell you. Let's just say the zoo does not have the best security, or at least not one that could stop me and my cunning plan. Okay, I slipped the guards a few hundred bucks a piece. It was for science, dammit. It was also an investment in my future. Who cares about my rent? Not me. I'm a genius.

  The beastie is still resting, the drugs have not worn off yet. I'm feeling a bit tired myself so off to beddie bye. Ta-ta.

  March 24

  Dear Diary,

  I may have made a slight error in judgement when I combined two animals that were so big.

  I slept through my alarm this morning and woke to the sound of loud growls. It seems our kitty was not pleased to find everything below its midsection replaced with scales and webbed claws. Kitty may have been grumpy, but the alligator part was unbearable. Without it's head, it seemed like the alligator-half forgot how to function. Is there anything more pathetic then seeing a mighty tiger pull itself forward with it's front paws while dragging two limp lizard legs behind it? The answer is no. And that kind of performance is not going to win me any grant money either. I lied earlier, I do care about my rent. I care very much. I don't want to be back out on the streets.

  I gave our kitty a sedative. I want him to rest as the tissues finish connecting so he can move properly. I'm hoping to have him camera ready by the weekend.

  March 25

  Dear Diary,

  Those tissues are connected. There's no doubt about that. Don't mind the drops of blood I'm spilling. Got too close to kitty I'm afraid. I was being so careful of his claws I forgot all about the alligator tail. That thing packs a wallop.

  Kitty is getting stronger.
He hasn't quite figured out how to move gracefully with long legs in the front and short ones in the back, but he's a clever kitty and I'm sure he'll get it soon enough.

  Now, for the important work. I've already called Oprah and Letterman and Ellen and a few others. Their people(s) thought I was a quack so I'm starting the old fashioned way, science journals. It'll increase my credibility and when those fools come knocking on my door, and they will, I'll make them beg to see kitty. Except Oprah. She gets a pass.

  When the world finally sees what I've done, I'll be hailed as a genius. Man of the Century. All the “real” scientists with their fancy degrees will marvel at my creation!

  Oh crap, kitty's growling. What sounds like a latch being unlatched? Uh-oh.

  A Man Named Joe

  Stepping over homeless people is easy, stepping on them is more difficult. You never know if you're going to sink down into the multiple layers of clothes they wear. Sinking down leads to tripping and you can get bruised that way pretty badly, trust me. During winter, you could step down really hard on a homeless person and not even hurt them they're so bulked up with coats and blankets. Still, I think it's worth the effort.

  You know that scene in American Psycho, the book not the movie, where he kills the homeless guy? Yeah, that's my favorite. I read it once a week.

  Stepping on the homeless is how I met Joe. Joe was homeless and I did what I could to crush him under my heavy work boots. I work as a personal assistant so I don't need work boots, I just wear them for my after work activities. I was having a pretty bad day. I'd been dragged into my boss's office and screamed at