Ragdoll by Trini Rogando
There are only so many ways a life can
begin. Most start tangled within a toymaker mother. Others start unloved and silent with only a hushed spool to wrap themselves around. Are you uncomfortable? Perhaps you prefer to hear how it ends. Sure. All humans die quickly, regardless of beginnings. They live to fight over wasted scraps, bloodying woven bodies with what they do not possess. I have always dreamed of a world where men are made of ribbons. Where shared souls are patchwork, not punchline. Perhaps there my fingernails are caked with dirt and tatter rather than the siphoned absence of love. Perhaps there my noose is not threaded from yearning shame, but flutters, dancing higher, unwinding kite to kite until the wind snips at our laughter and we fray. Oh, yes, I dream of this ragdoll world. We would not die suddenly, rather—with soft backbones, an explosion of thread, wine-red hearts fading in the sun. |
Trini Rogando is a sixteen-year-old junior from Virginia who hopes to pursue English literature in the future. Trini's flash fiction entitled "Drown" will be featured in the first volume of Paper Crane .