Monstrilio

I wanted him to snap, to finally and absolutely lose it. To break. He was withering. To wither is not the same as to break; to break is to have pieces to put back together, and to wither is to dry up, to wilt, to lose bone, to die, and death is the most boring.

Was I expected to find solace in these people? I felt alone, perfectly alone. So alone I felt divine. Divine like a lonely god unfathomable to anyone but herself.

The world was scary. Worse, I was scary in it.

We didn’t so much exist as much as we haunted, and with no one else to haunt, we haunted each other.

One believes the stupidest things in grief.

To wither is not the same as to break; to break is to have pieces to put back together, and to wither is to dry up, to wilt, to lose bone, to die, and death is the most boring.

pretend my time as Monstrilio is hazy. Muffled sounds and blurred colors. I say I remember warmth. But I don’t say I miss my fur. I don’t say I’m hungry because my hunger is what makes everyone scared. They are happy to believe I forgot how they maimed me.

He asked me to cry with him, but his sadness was his and I couldn’t steal it.

I wade through the shadows of our living room, hoping to find monsters. Chat with them. Laugh. But there are no monsters in these shadows. Only me.

But Santiago said no, God chooses who he cares for, and he hadn’t chosen us. But, Santiago added, we shouldn’t be sad, God had too many rules anyway, and did we really want to follow so many rules?

There’s a way of believing where one believes and does not believe at the same time.

They are happy to believe I forgot how they maimed me.

believed that flower was my son reincarnated. One believes the stupidest things in grief. I spoke to the flower and called it my son. And then I laughed because how ridiculous—how cruel, really—it would have been if my son was reincarnated as something so ephemeral, frail, and beautiful. I killed that first bloom with one swoop of my hand. Dead again, my son could become something else: the shell of a tortoise, strong and ancient, or a hideous fanged creature deep in the sea where he’d see wonders even he could’ve never imagined.

I don't say I'm hungry because my hunger is what makes everyone scared. They are happy to believe I forgot how they maimed me.

My mother thought I was a monster and didn't love me because of it. This thing, an actual fucking monster, was loved.

I felt alone, perfectly alone. So alone I felt divine. Divine like a lonely god unfathomable to anybody but herself.

when the day came that he finally pulled himself out—by anger, most likely—the day he did not seem doomed, I would know. Maybe he’d have a rope to throw me.

Where M sat there was almost no light. Next to him stood a doorway to an even darker part of the apartment. I wanted to save M but couldn’t move. The room next to M emitted an uncanny darkness. I would have thought it beautiful if I didn’t have the sense it would swallow us all.

Did that thing just call me Papi?

Mermaids are vicious if they don't like you

I don’t say I’m hungry because my hunger is what makes everyone scared. They are happy to believe I forgot how they maimed me.

I kept my apartment full of trinkets that encased moments I believed were worth remembering, a physical accumulation of my life in order to make sure it wasn’t passing by unnoticed.

what they needed wasn’t acknowledgment or empathy or closure; it was escape.

called me the worst shadow. A demon. He asked me to go away, but when he couldn’t see me, he called for me. I was always around; I only had to come out from where I hid.

I unhinge my jaw and walk to the kitchen.

Also, it tastes like cow. Nothing wrong with cow. But a cow doesn’t dream. Not really. And if it does, it dreams of grass. Maybe open skies. A human dreams crazy dreams. Horrible dreams. Great dreams. Like flying. Or teeth falling.

Lena appeared. She hated churches, God specifically, a deep scorn only possible if there was love to begin with, so she didn’t go to the mass, not even for me, and I wouldn’t have asked. She wore loose jeans, white sneakers, a white shirt, and a vermillion blazer—a shock of color against all the black. Scandalously inappropriate. Gorgeous.