Day In Decayville
by Michael C.
Dead hair. I got corpse
head, sighed Carl Lamont, staring at himself
in the bathroom mirror. Freaking dried up
The octogenarian ran his
index finger down a deep wrinkle leading from the
top of his drawn cheek to the dark crevice in his
bristly chin. Withering up like a sun drenched
prune. Damn raisin face.
He then pushed at the
bulbous bags under his eyes. Where the hell
did they come from? How come so big? Like face
When Carl blinked his
drooping lids, filmy liquid ran from the corners
of his bloodshot orbs. Failing tear ducts to
join the drippy bladder. Cant stop the bodys
terminal flow. Everythings running out . .
. letting go.
He took notice of his ever-growing
brows. Andy Rooney awnings. And the long
white strands sprouting from his floppy ears. You
in there, Rapunzel? Well, get out while the
Finally, Carl inserted his
false teeth and spread his thin lips broadly to
inspect the result. Better than just the
gummies, I guess.
honey, chirped a womens voice from
the other room. Hope you didnt put
your teeth in yet.