By Danica Green

Jessie has no skin. Jessie has no parents. Jessie has no television. We have all three and we dangle them in front of him with the sweetest of mockery. We like to watch him swat his feeble hands at the glaring screen, tattooed flesh, mother's breasts, feet, ample cheeks. Jessie has no time so we buy him clocks to surround himself with in the morning. Jessie has no voice and so we sing him to sleep and make silent bets on which sour tear will be the first to grace his chin. Jessie has no thought with which to hate us. Jessie has no soul, but neither do we.

Neither do we.

- - -
I am a writer of words and thoughts that make no sense and cause people to want to smack me over the head and ask me what the hell I'm on about, then leave and do something else. That probably doesn't sound appealing but I always thought it was a pretty nifty way to be.

Help keep Smashed Cat alive! Visit our sponsors! :)

- - -

Older Weirdness