Tuesday, October 12, 2010
I'm gonna do it this time. I'm gonna be the best race car driver ever. "Ladies and gentlemen! It's Ricky Rudd." Watch me race my car from the closet to the bed. My room is Nascar, my bed the winners circle. But wait I've won and now they are asking me to dance. On my chubby toes I twinkle across the winners circle to my stage.
My fingers clasped around green and yellow fisher price maracas, keeping the rhythm for my transformation from Ricky Rudd to Coco. "Remember my name. Fame. I'm gonna live forever. I'm gonna learn how to fly High. I feel it coming together. People will see me and cry. Fame. I'm gonna make it to heaven. Light up the sky like a flame. Fame. I'm gonna live forever. Baby, remember my name. Fame." Crouched ready for the finale of my dance and I am struck down. Flat on the floor with my maracas rolling slowly away.
I am dead and yet I rise, slowly, my dead flesh reeking and my tousled hair splayed across my sweaty face. My skin is ghostly, my eyes sunken into their sockets. Black circles encasing their empty greyness. My jaw is slack; my fingers curled into claws. My arms suddenly alive again raise up toward my face. They hang there as my body rocks back and forth. "