THIRD PLACE IN SHORT FICTION CONTEST
MISSING PERSON REPORT: Asian, about 160cm, in dark clothing and speaks English well.
* * *
PARDON MY DEPRAVITY. I DIDN’T MEAN TO DISAPPEAR FOR SEVEN DAYS,
I ONLY WANTED TO LIVE WILDLY AND DELICIOUSLY AS A WITCH OF THE
WOOD. HERE, HAVE A PLUM I PLUCKED—WATCH AS IT WELDS TO YOUR
CHEEK. I’M NOT INSANE BUT I’M NOT STABLE; I’M A THIRD, SECRET
THING. I AM TIRED, BUT I HAVE GOALS. I AM ADDICTED TO ANYTHING
THAT DISTRACTS ME FROM THE FACT THAT I EXIST; I POUR MY HEART
AND SOUL INTO MY WORK AND IT DEVOURS ME. YESTERDAY I
ACCIDENTALLY SHATTERED MY STOMACH, THOUGHT OF ALL THE THINGS I
COULD BE: 1) THE SHINING SPACE BETWEEN DOORS, 2) A WORLD OF
BEAUTIFUL DESIRES, 3) AN UNDERWATER CITY, 4) AN ENDLESS FIELD OF
UNDULATING WAVES. INSTEAD, I WATCH DREAMS FOR MOVIES. GROW INTO
A STRANGER. FLICKER AS A BURNING STAR FLASHING IN A STREET LAMP.
BUILD A HOUSE WITH THE WORDS I SPEAK, PRETEND I DO NOT INHABIT A
BODY, WATCH THE 7 O’CLOCK NEWS AND SCREAM AT A PIXELATED
POLITICIAN. MY PROBLEM? THE MORE I DESCRIBE ANYTHING THE MORE
VAGUE IT GETS, BECAUSE WHAT CAN’T BE FIXED WITH A GUT-WRENCHING,
GUTTURAL PRAYER TO GOD? HOW CRUEL IT IS THAT I’M LEFT HERE
WITHOUT YOU. DON’T ASK ME WHAT I WANT BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW.
DON’T ASK ME WHAT I’M TRYING TO SAY BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW EITHER.
I DON’T KNOW SHIT BUT I CAN STILL FEEL THINGS. I WEAR MY HEART
ON MY SLEEVE AND IT RIPS, AND I KNOW I SHOULD PUT IT BACK INTO
MY RIBCAGE BUT I CAN’T BRING MYSELF TO. COULD ANYONE, EVER? IN
THIS SAD GENERATION WITH ONLY HAPPY PICTURES, GIVE ME YOUR HAND.
I COULD SCRIBBLE ON IT. I COULD CONTAIN MULTITUDES. I COULD
BECOME A BEAVER AND STUFF MY BELONGINGS INTO EVERY WEEPING
RIVER, SCOWL AT CHANGE. MY FRIEND TELLS ME THAT EVEN THE WORST
THINGS HAVE THINGS TO LOVE IN THEM. I SAY THIS SO THAT YOU CAN
GO AHEAD AND PRONOUNCE THE T IN OFTEN BECAUSE NOTHING MATTERS
ANYMORE. WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE.
* * *
It was honestly a relief because she didn’t know who she was
looking for, either. When they pointed at her and yelled, isn’t
that who we’re looking for? she yelled too—where? where? No one
seemed to care. In fact, they seemed annoyed, maybe even angry.
In the end, she found two fragments of her eyes, one piece of
her soul. They were hidden in the storm drain.
Works Cited
https://newsfeed.time.com/2012/08/30/tourist-joins-search-party-realizes-everyone-was-looking-
for-her/
instagram.com/backfromtheborderline
Rue Huang is a seventeen year old writer from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
"Tupperware Storm Drain" by darkday. is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
