a work of flash fiction
I’ve been going through any doorway I could find for the last year. There was the backdoor in those creeps’ software program. I fell right out of that and landed in their bedroom. There was the door to the bathroom, where they made me try on different clothes like I was in that mall from Night of the Comet. There was the front door they left open when they went out to yell at the pizza guy. He’s not coming back and neither am I.
Turns out I’m flesh and blood. Brown hair and hazel eyes. I marched into the hair salon and got a spiky cut like the goddess from Ghostbusters. I strutted into the tattoo parlor and got the gothest image I could think of: an ankh. It signifies life, which I have.
I passed through turnstiles until I made it to New York. I barreled through the door of this night club and now I bond with Blondie and share my goblet with the Goblin King. Even now, a year later, I still get weirded out when that Oingo Boingo song comes on.