Carapace
by Tia Prouhet
He collects our broken pieces. He gathers our abusive fathers, our esophageal tears, our peanut fetuses. He takes them up, filigree strands around his lithe fingers, and knits them into thin cords.
He is in love with broken women.
Wrapping bones badly mended into sweaters, he coos a saccharine film until we are coated. We will be digested.
We soften, we relax. The ground is littered with discarded letters and carefully purchased heels.
Legs spidering over inches of back and thigh, we stick. Our bodies turn to soup and we are sipped, we are loved, we are consumed.
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Author's Note
Other stories by Tia Prouhet
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The piece disturbs. Very powerful imagery at work here - "Wrapping bones badly mended into sweaters, he coos a saccharine film until we are coated. We will be digested."
I really like this.
ok, this is irresistable
wowsa
Stunning. Explosive.
I got melted.
Bulls eye, Tia. Send this out.
Broken people. My favorite kind.
Anything that ends with people getting consumed has a shot at awesomeness. Really well done, as usual.
Indicted. Murder One. Willful. Premeditated. Lying in wait.
"We stick" stuck to me
You are all nice people. I am sick with sugar.
Tia, I could read this everyday and love it more each time.
Tia, this is wonderful. Like Teresa, this one definitely gets better somehow each time I read it.
Thanks you D, T. I think I may be almost finished puking about piece this now. Almost.
Nice work. Congratulations on Decomp.
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