Lesser Matters

Outside the gymnasium, you ask me: if we were on a boat far out at sea, and I had no arms and legs, would you push me off, drown me? I imagine you limbless- just this tidy chunk of meat, falling swiftly over the edge of a gnawed, wooden boat. Plop into the imagined ocean (which is never blue, always murky green). It is a terrifying thought, and it bites me. I try to take your hand- sweet gesture, but my own hand doesn't work. It is too cold today, and you are too mean.

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