The Girl from Hikkaduwa

[photo by jean-claude]

In the belly of the darkest hours, the phone rings. Emergency? No, she is calling from Hikkaduwa, Sri Lanka. JC? JC, I was so badly sun burnt at the beach yesterday. That gave me an idea for a story. Thanksgiving dinner at Medium’s. Groovy. Did you say gravy? You’re funny. So I am having a nightmare. What? Yes I know my life is nothing but. Funny again. I was the roasted turkey lying naked on a large gorgeous plate. I am the center piece. What? What I have always dreamed of? What did you put in your cereals JC? Tell us JC. I am the dinner. I am looking at 30 guests, all writers, and I have no clothes on. Just a dried up skin. Wrinkled. It could have been a funny joke until someone put his ink stained fingers on my thigh. An other one fisted me to scoop the stuffing. A third one stabbed me, the swine. So humiliating it was, JC. Why are you laughing JC? You icehole.

Call disconnected.

The phone rings again.

Still laughing,

I can’t go back to sleep.

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