In Brian’s front yard, there’s a grassy indention that he likes to lie in, pretending he’s relaxing in a giant bowl. Someone will eat him. Someone will want him, take him away from here, and put him in their body where he will have a purpose. Pieces of him will have a purpose. He’ll be like any other organ, necessary, irreplaceable. The grass makes his back itch. He scratches at it, but it only itches more, gets worse. The skin breaks and he bleeds droplets freely, leaks blood.
He scratches more and his hands slip over the rising welts and he can’t get any traction. His shirt turns red. Eventually all his shirts are red. His parents don’t say anything to him about it. To each other they say, it’s tough, childhood these days, hard to be a kid these days, so easily embarrassed and everything’s so new. But to him they say nothing. They smile and tell him to have a good attitude. No one likes a sad Sally, they say.
— Brandi Wells, The first boy without a nose
Thankyou to Vic Lentaigne for photography of Issue 1