Toast

I responded to a craigslist ad that was looking for people affected by animal spirits to do a television spot on local access. I sent the following letter:

Dear paranormalmilwaukee.com,

I may have a story for you. My name is Luke and I have an identical twin brother named Lawrence. We were born in a small town in Michigan. When we were younger, our parents bought my brother and I an adorable puppy as a pet. I was not interested in the responsibility at the time so I gave it to my brother in whole.

My brother Lawrence was an odd little boy and became accustomed to calling his puppy, “Toast”. And that was what he primarily fed it. Toast could never tell the two of us apart. He was always coming to me when Lawrence called his name from across the room. As soon as Toast would figure out that it was me instead of my brother, he’d become angry and usually bite me. When Toast was around my brother, he was ecstatic. He loved Lawrence and couldn’t get enough of him. They would play outside for hours together. When Toast got a little older, my brother and I got our very first car. Unfortunately, we had to share it.

One night, the both of us decided to go camping and bring Toast along with us. It was an impromptu trip and the last one my brother and Toast would have. During the drive up North, my brother fell asleep at the wheel and totaled the car. Toast and Lawrence were both killed. I survived because I was the only one wearing my seat belt. I spent the next 3 months in a hospital recovering from the accident. As soon as I could walk on my own, I moved out of the state to Milwaukee to get away from all of the bad memories.

Now it is two years later and I’m happily living in Milwaukee having the time of my life. I live alone in an apartment in Bay View. But lately, strange things have been happening. I brought all of Toast’s belongings with me and they’re in a box in my closet. I’ve started finding Toast’s water bowl filled up and placed next to the refrigerator in my kitchen, the same place where we used to keep it at my parent’s house. And a few times I’ve even found a piece of toast next to it when it turns up there, and I don’t even own a toaster! Also, howling that seems to be coming from just outside my bedroom door that I’ve never found a source for. I have absolutely no explanation for any of this happening because I haven’t told any of my friends here about the dog.

I believe that Toast’s ghost has followed me here and is confused about my identity. I believe he thinks I am my brother Lawrence and wants to be with him. I am afraid what would happen if he ever found out that I am not Lawrence.

I am willing to do an interview and will answer any and all questions you may have. Thank you for your time.

- Luke

They emailed me back and asked for my phone number. I spoke to them. It was awkward.

Razor

I shaved with a cheap razor today. The blades parted my skin cells one by one. It was a slow divide that I drew out intentionally. Once I realized that I had gone too deep, I pressed harder, determined to teach myself a lesson. It was no small cut. Blood spilled into my mouth. Hours later the wound healed and the blood clotted. My lazy and self-spiteful shaving techniques have joined the lineup of issues that are preventing me from smiling.

If I had been shaving my throat, I’d be preventing myself from breathing. I don’t draw the line anywhere, my razor does.

Box

Is falling in love a literary device, or does it actually happen? Love must somehow be affected by gravity. In order to fall in love, one must be above love. This seems to imply that love is morally below people who are not in love. We stoop down to love’s level in order to experience it. Does that mean that the inverse is true? If we’ve fallen out of love, are we below it? Is it better than us?

Humans have always attributed sadness to “feeling low” and happiness to having “high spirits”. Self esteem is measured as either “High” or “Low”. There’s a scale that seems to follow a vertical path. Does love follow this path? It seems to with its notions of gravity. If it does, love would have to reside at the zero point on the scale.

If we take this vertical scale of love and compare it against the happiness or self esteem scale, those who have never been in love should be happier, those who are in love should have no feelings, and those who have fallen out of love should be sadder. Given this logic, love has no value.

I imagine a faceless, sexless human named “Us” suspended in the air. There is no Earth below Us. All around Us is a white cloud with invisible features. Just a smooth white cloud. A black hooded robe is worn by Us. The arms and legs that belong to Us are fluidly moving about in space. The happiness of Us is at its highest possible. Below Us is a heart shaped box with an open top. The curiosity is driving Us mad. The box seems to be getting closer to Us. The sensation of falling is noticed by Us. The happiness starts to fall as well and is replaced by fear. The head that belongs to Us is smashed against the bottom of the heart shaped box. Stillness is felt. No movement of the extremities. There is nothing. No happiness is felt by Us. After a great while of stillness, the box’s floor begins to melt away and stretch under the warmth and weight of Us. The bottom of the box rips through and throws Us down below it. The box keeps the black robe that belongs to Us and leaves Us naked. A new feeling of sadness begins to overtake and grow within Us as the box gets farther away and out of view. There is no happiness, only waiting and sadness. There will be a great battle for Us to get back up into the air and into happiness. A path that must avoid the heart shaped box at all costs to get back up. For if the box is passed back through by Us, nothing will be gained. There will be nothing. The journey must pass the heart shaped box and continue on to the happiness above it. Only then will the life of Us start again.

I’d rather Us feel something. I’d rather for Us to be happy.

Blood

I closed my eyes. To my amazement, I could still see the room around me. I put my fingers to my eyes to see if they were closed. I felt eyelids and liquid. I removed my fingers to find blood dripping from them. I could see through my fingers. I wiped the blood off on my cheek. I could see through my cheek. Each drop of my blood on my skin added to my vision. I put my fingers in my mouth, bit down, and swallowed. The blood dripped down my throat and I was taken on a tour of my digestive system. I found that I had stomach cancer. I cut my wrist so that I may cover my entire body. Every squeeze of my forearm freed more crimson. I slowly became enlightened. I could see from all angles. When I had doused myself completely in my own color, I understood the infinite and the void. I collapsed to the floor in awe. I died in understanding.

Ants

I awoke. I undressed myself. I lusted my way into a forest. I made love to all I saw there. I found myself with sweet honey and a blade. I covered myself with the honey and buried the blade into my face. I flung myself to the ground. I screamed in exile. I made love to the ants that were slaves. I made love to their queen. I found the ants loved me. I found the ants wanted to be with me. I traveled and the ants followed. I believed that the ants loved me. I named them all. I wanted them to be with me. I told the ants what you have done to me. I understood that the ants wanted revenge. I listened to the ants and their plans to torture you. I was hesitant. I no longer loved you. I loved the ants and they loved me. I took the ants to where you were. I whispered in the queen’s ear. I reminded her of what you’ve done. I saw the ants begin their attack. I stopped them. I told them I wanted to help. I watched the ants make me small. I watched the world around me grow. I was one of them. I was what loved me. I crawled up your body. I noticed you not notice. I journeyed up to your eye. I retrieved the blade from my wound. I carved a hole large enough for me to slip through and into your pupil. I crawled in. I watched you not notice from the inside. I returned the blade to my face. I was able to look where you looked. I was disgusted at what you looked at. I was disgusted to see your face in the mirror instead of mine. I could not make love to you. I grew insane in my solitude in the black room inside your eye. I grew lonely. I called out for the ants. I watched the ants not come. I watched you watch the ants not come. I was alone. I was alone inside of your eye. I was cold inside of you. I thought you would be warm. I wanted you to be warm to me. I wanted in vain. I wanted inside your veins. I decided to end it. I no longer wanted to see what you saw. I was disgusted for too long. I jerked the blade out from my face. I had some difficulty. I had healed to the blade in my little black prison. I screamed in pain. I thought you heard me. I knew I was crazy to think that. I knew you could never hear me. I took the blade and kissed it. I tasted my blood. I tasted freedom. I thrust the blade back through the front of your eye. I grew as I escaped. I grew much faster than I moved out of you. I watched your body quiver as I exited. I noticed you finally noticed me.