Posting on: January 4, 2011
m4? – December 22, 2010
I was: Young drunk pissing in the snow who then hugged you
You were: My mother manifested as a cactus
Remember me? It was 4 a.m. a few nights before Christmas. It had been scarcely a week since you died, and I had been drinking steadily.
I came out of the pub and puked near the door, and then unzipped and pissed in the snow. I looked up and there you were, a tall cactus standing in the middle of the road.
I knew it was you.
I ran up to you in tears and hugged you. “Mommy,” I said. “Ow. Mommy, I missed you. Ow. Ow. Ow.”
You pricked me in many places. I fell to the ground and started scratching myself. When I looked up, you had disappeared.
And then I looked down and realised my zipper was still open. You always hated that. That’s why you went away, wasn’t it?
I’m sorry, mommy. It’ll never happen again.
Reply to this mail or meet me outside the pub. I’ll be there, waiting.