The monster beneath my bed gave birth to me. She knows I’m afraid of her, so she keeps herself hidden. Each morning when I wake up, I find placed on my pillow worms and caterpillars, monster treats she leaves to let me know she loves me. I want to want them, but their squirming and twitching turn my stomach, like they would any other boy in the neighborhood.
Adults whisper that I’m too young for despair. I have a feeling, though, that I’m too old for it.
© Thad Fowler. All rights reserved.