by George Maguire
Copyright (c) 2011 George Maguire
For linda, andrew and craig
A sympathetic Scot summed it all up very neatly in the remark, “You should make a point of trying every experience once, excepting incest and folk-dancing.”
-Arnold Bax, Farewell My Youth
My heart banged globules of body chemicals to the open wound. Heat flickered through ballooned veins. I watched the blood lap out of me. Out of a neat, perfectly round hole about the size of a nickel. The hole was close to my navel, I think, above it certainly; the thick, black blood obscured everything below it with a congealing sheen. I swallowed. And I convulsed. I barely breathed. The sweet air entered me as an acrid noxious gas; blood had condensed onto the back of my throat and tinged the precious oxygen with a metallic dryness. Breath came through a hole that circled a scream. I heard the scream expand, unheard by any other, to an infinity bound by the walls of a tiny, over-furnished office.