WORRY - brandi wells


brandi wells

She locks her bedroom door and sits on the floor, leaning back against her bed. It is there that she lifts her foot to her mouth and gnaws the skin around her toenails. She bites and picks at the little whitish-clear hunks of flesh until she begins to bleed. Blood gets caught in all the little grooves of the chewed on skin. If you look at her toes with a microscope, you will know she is a monster. She takes fingernail clippers and snips off the calluses from the bottoms of her feet. The skin looks yellowish and dirty. There’s a hunk of tar between her toes. She rolls the tar into a little ball and throws it under her bed. She eats the clipped off skin. She chews on it, feeling the gristle of it. A bit of it gets caught between her teeth and she stands up, unlocks the door and goes to the bathroom to floss. She flosses with the bathroom door open, not worrying who will see her teeth or gums or tongue. She is not one to worry.

Brandi Wells
Birds of America
Lorrie Moore