My Sick Sad Little World 2: Post Partum

Post Partum

It is very lonely here in the dark. Very dark, very tight. I almost think, sometimes, that my mommy doesn’t love me, but she assures me she does. Every night she she looks down with her big sad eyes, and says that she loves me, and she says good night. That’s how I differentiate night and day here, ’cause without her telling me I ‘d be darned sure that it was night all the time, here in the hole.

I’ve tried clawing out, climbing up, desperately pulling my naked body through the slight sharp crags of stone that surround me. And it was always futile, obviously… I’m still in the hole. Always bloody and a bit broken I’d fall down with a hollow thud and suddenly mommy would peer over and ask if I was alright. She’d cry and I’d feel bad. Mommy, stop crying, mommy stop crying, please mommy don’t cry. She’d cry and finally go to a fit. She’d tell me I was bad. Bad boy. Bad evil boy. Stupid animal boy. Damn ugly child of mine, and a tub of alcohol would shower me from above. And it stings, burning flesh, balming wounds, and searing pain. It is good for me, she would say, good for my bad little devil boy, I love you.

But I know, always know, that mommy loves me very dearly. Since sometimes, not all of the time, but sometimes, she would turn the magic box a little bit too loud so I could sing along to her programs. Tararara-para-para-param-pum! It’s Saturday, I know ’cause that’s the intro to the game show. Or ba-room-bam-bam-boom, that’s her Thursday soap. Mommy thank you. Mommy, I love you.

But the days I look forward to the most are the beginnings of the month, or is it the ends? I’m confused. Whatever, but count 30 or 31 good-nights-i-love-yous and you’d be sure mommy shows her love. She sends me down a playmate, someone a bit younger and smaller than me. Everyone from the neighborhood in fact. Little Bobby, Peeping Tom, Raggedy Anne. The whole lot comes down one by one every start or end of the month, and those days I won’t be too lonely cause I have someone to talk to, someone to play Monster and Victim or House Dispute or Bloody Rape with. I’m so happy, human-beings, playmates. Play things.

But doesn’t last long. Even though I’m just a baby boy, I know everyone leaves. Everyone dies, eventually. They don’t know I’m special. They don’t know I am important, at least that’s what mommy tells me. Only mommy, only mommy loves me.

Isn’t that right dad? Hey, dad… why aren’t you breathing? Hey dad, it’s Sunday night. I can hear the news. It’s mom’s crush, that anchor with the suave voice. Aren’t you jealous dad?

“Yesterday, the woman behind the serial kidnappings was shot trying to flee the Municipal Park… We can only hope that the lost children will eventually be brought back to their homes. We can only hope that this madness will claim no more innocent victims.”

BJCl February 2013


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