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.