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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
- - -
Read CM's story, "As You Are."
w i g · l e a F
08-13-09
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