John

The body of a teenage mistake falls backwards in slow motion onto his bed. The eyes are closed, squeezed shut. He can still see it all. Above him the ceiling spins. A giant smile grins, and a giant eye blinks shut. Inside of him the universe explodes into a million little pieces that make up a million little people. Dawn does not come easy, rays cut through his bedroom glass like wide cruel daggers. His mother Mary yells. His mother is a whore.