Thyrsus

Sebastian Socorro

Literature Editor


My head drifted over the water, tilting to see them: bare chests like broken windows where the curtains used to be. They never found me funny, but they were laughing regardless. Between each other, at me, at the irony. One of them was smoking, face obscured in grey. My gaze was stuck on pounds of flesh, and their gaze was stuck on me. I wonder what they thought, watching me glide so calmly in the little bathtub. I had left my marks, pink stripes of lightning down the paleness of pecs. Surely they thought it hilarious, how the only unmarked one was the one bathing in the murk. Perhaps that was the joke. One of them flicked the butt of a cigarette into the water and my head shifted once more to see the bedroom behind them. In that sacred place, my body was played with. Wine spilled down what was left, and I saw the bed sheets stained. Someone closed my eyes.

Originally Published on www.bandersnatch.ca Vol.49 Issue 12 on April 1st, 2020