The Manic Pixie Slaughter House By Derek Spencer

I took a snapchat picture of myself with my tits out but then I used the coloring tool to draw a shirt on myself. I sent it to seven men and received seven responses of disappointment. I would soon have seven suitors planning seven marriages with seven hawk-eyed mothers, seventeen jealous, incestuous sisters, and seven jealous, pervert fathers.

I live in a castle. I am seventeen. I wear golden slippers and white dresses and dirty thongs. I think thoughts that have never been thought before about people who only I know. My personal servant is my age, and I treat her like shit. She is a piece of shit. She cleans up my shit. I make her eat shit.

I eat fast food prepared by the seven slaves of capitalism. My castle is a commune of cacophonous convicts, eclectic and silent. I take pictures of them. I take pictures with them. They are mine. They are citizens of the United States of America. They have iPhones. They are my equals. They are mine.

My parents protect me from sex and drugs and violence. My parents fuck and use and fight. I fuck and use and fight. I sneak out my window on a rope made of my servant’s pubic hair to meet my seven suitors. They let me in their cars and hand me brown paper bags with magic inside. When I am liquored up, they get to have their way. This is also my way. Sex is always consensual. They treat me like shit. I am a piece of shit. I clean up shit. I eat shit.

In the morning I will call my friends to tell them that I am only kidding, that I did it for the laughs, that I am an independent woman who will never marry and never grow old and never beg, bow, or blink.

I am a liar.

I made all that up. I am a seventeen-year-old boy in an apartment in Cleveland. I am virginal in the holiest way and will only lose myself to my imagination. I can create the best characters, the best girls, the best sex. Women submit to women and women submit to men and everyone submits to me. One day I will be a rich eunuch, sitting atop a mountain of gold, paying actors to be me and to fuck for me. This will be my life and I cannot be stopped.

© 2014 Derek Spencer

Derek Spencer is a Chicago-based writer, musician, and performer. He holds a B.A. in philosophy from the University of Chicago.

 

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