Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

I was never committed. To any facility. Could I be losing it then? I feel
fine. I feel…
Images spin and collide. Kris’s hair haloing around her head, looking
down into Jesus’s eyes from above as they lie coupled. Jesus means to
tell her he loves her, but holds back. Kris’s hands run up the curves of
pig’s back as they sit facing each other, the little grin in pig’s eyes
gloating, “I posses what you thought was yours.” They kiss, but pig’s
eyes stay on Jesus as he lets his drink fall from numb fingers.
A spider, its green metal lair disturbed, crawls up Jesus’s pant-leg and
finds a place to plant the fangs…
Pig, seen through a veil of jealous tears and anger, years before…
Jesus looks over at his doughy, pouting girlfriend, then over at pig grinding
139 under an upturned sofa, and finally down at his exquisitely
manicured hands laying in his skirted lap. Thinking about the shoulders
he’ll never touch, and more, thinking about the same shoulders that will
never be his. He deserves her body. Suddenly he feels the shame he felt
the first time his mother caught him dressed up.
“Does this mean you like boys?”
Agent 139 was riding a camel in Egypt when the screeching woke
him.
He adapted over his committal to the tortured circadian rhythms of his
neighbors. Those not under sedation whimpered, hissed, screamed, lectured,
barked denials at their dreamscapes until Wake Up at nine o’clock.
At first he was an avid listener to these nocturnal improvs. He hung on
One-Eyed Steven’s raspy punctuation to Al’s post-traumatic stress. He
wrote reviews lambasting the one-upmanship of the psychotics, huzzahs
to the delicate percussion of the catatonics upstairs. He bit his nails and
stared out the window.
Eventually, boredom triumphed and he slept like a baby.
But tonight’s shrieking was a whoopee cushion in Turandot. He kept
his breathing sleepy and even and cracked his eyes, scanning for a
source.
The screech came from his window glass, behind the mesh that held
him in. A small circle of glass cracked! and was pulled out into the night.
Agent 139 rose slowly and walked over to the grill, a mounting sense
of disbelief upon him. Standing on his toes and placing an eye across
from the hole did no good, as he found himself looking into a mirror. A
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