The Lexicon Sticks With You – Curse #999

Posted on August 16, 2010


April 1st – 2:43 AM


The pipe smoldered as you stood outside, smoking and plotting, low to the ground and quiet as mice living in the walls. The tobacco was good and warmed the throat, pushing forward the courage from a dark, hidden crevice in your lungs — the courage you would need to pull off your intended plan. You were a practical joker, a real hell of a clown, but really?



The first night was the last night you would dress as a man sized rodent. You spent the evening sneaking into your girlfriend’s home, wearing a suit and playfully stealing half a pound of Havarti cheese from the refrigerator. That would be the first time you were cognizant of her father’s strength.


The cheese smelt like a day old septic sore. But you crept in and  you stowed the cheese under her pillow. Had you any real whiskers, they would have trembled with delight.

You were slowly slipping out. Almost there, almost to the door, when she screamed, “Heeellppppppppp.” In your head you followed the last syllable of that word a fraction of a second too long.  Her father was upon you before you could yelp, “It’s me, the boyfriend! The BOYFRIEND!”

In hindsight that probably would made things worse anyhow.


Her father bifurcated you. His massive paws were simply that strong, and he pulled you apart into two messy pieces. Kids in the neighborhood would whisper the story in a manner that discredited the act. They would say, “Dude, did you hear about the guy that got torn in two by his girlfriend’s father?”

But you were not torn in two. You were simply bifurcated.


Of mice and men and rats and boys dressed like fake rodents — someone would always be there to stomp and maul, to tear apart the body. But minds, ah yes, the mind — you can be torn in two but when you get sewed back together the Lexicon sticks with you.  And on lonely nights you run a finger over the long scar, with nothing else but the words in that lexicon, remembering your days as a rat.