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The Crimes of Orphans

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Obie Williams

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“My head is burning again this morning. I am starting to get used to it and see it as a glow. The head weighs fourteen pounds or thereabouts. Today, mine feels like a giant sunflower perched on top of a slender, swaying reed. It is odd to me how an easy day like yesterday is followed by another like today. I stay with discomfort, and pause to rest the lids of my eyes, my head on its stem.”

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“When you fall into the gutter you tell yourself that you can climb out. Then you notice that you’re covered in filth but you still think that you can get out. But the smell seeps into your soul and is always there with you. All you need is someone else to look at you differently, talk to you like you’re someone that matters and extend a hand. Only then can you climb into the gutter.”

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“Trevor could almost see the invisible gas leaking from the broken furnace, billowing around his body, wafting in his wake from the laundry room to the living room, seeking out the nostrils of the realtor, the yuppies, the toddler, and every other goddamn trespasser before seeping into their bloodstream and infecting their cells until they dizzied, ached, barfed, and fell to the floor like a bunch of— He caught himself. He breathed through his nose. He pushed away the hate, calmed the tornado strangling his gut, and thought of HER.”

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“Trevor climbed once again to the land of the living, naked except for an antique gas mask strapped to his face. As he peered through glass eyes like a mutant fly and breathed through the alien snoot, a single thought coiled through the booby-trapped labyrinth of his brain: I need to be alone. I need to be alone. I need to be alone.”

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“The whirlwind in his brain—which had so many times tugged his pituitary in ways that made him TAKE instead of GIVE— subsided for the very first time. Tightness in his crotch usually corresponded with a tightness in his gut, making him want to CONTROL, to CHOKE, to SUBDUE... but not this time. Not ever again.”

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