The doctors said it was due to a mutated gene and never explained anything more. He was constantly thirsty and when the soulful-eyed women gave him water, he leaked at the sides. One woman, who survived two abusive husbands and cancer, came up with a solution. She plugged his holes with a custom-made non-toxic stopper. It worked for a while and he had dreams of being lighter than water. He would float lightheaded through a world of forbidden zones, over broken trails of sunken footprints. One night after sex and bubbles, he popped in every direction. The woman gathered his pieces from the walls, fitted them together on the bed. He was now as flat as a cartoon character. After folding him in thirds, she placed him in the freezer. After all, she thought, there was still hope.
we carry bits of others
wherever we go
—Published previously in Contemporary Haibun Online (October 2019, Vol. 15, No. 3); appears here with author’s permission
is a retired health care worker. His prose, poetry, and artworks have been published in various online and print publications, including The Airgonaut, Human/Kind, Jellyfish Review, New Flash Fiction Review, Twin Cities Review, and others. His latest collections of poetry/prose are Scream from Scars Publications and Split Brain on Amazon Kindle. He loves Fifties sci-fi movies, Manga comics, and pre-punk garage bands of the ’60s.
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