Dear Wigleaf,

I woke early. Some awful thought startled my still, lifeless morning mind: miniature men bite me all over—miniature women with pokers. I shot out of my bed and stood naked in the hallway before a half mirror. My mother walked by from her room and said, "You're covered in spots." Spots itched a little. My initial thought: I must have lupus. My second thought: Lots of miniature men. My father handed me a large bottle of aloe. No words exchanged. Mom said, "All of your clothes, all of your bedding, wash, hang." She went to work. Being Wednesday, a day off, I played Dusty Springfield and Mahler and cleaned, with vinegar, my entire room, all the while itching and damning the miniature men who must've come from that crack in my closet wall. The Icecream man drove by and I chased him down.

Most Humbly Obligated,

Conor Robin Madigan

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Read CM's story, "As You Are."

w i g · l e a F               08-13-09                                [home]