Friday, May 8, 2015

Octopus Gloves

Once she puts them on she can't get them off. Each finger seems to act independently of the others, a curling, twisting family of worms at the end of each wrist. Occasionally they become knotted and when that happens she delicately untangles them using her teeth. They crawl across the table when she's not looking, attaching their suckers to whatever objects they come across; glasses, plates, salt shakers. The only time they seem to heed her is at the end of the day when she crawls into bed, at which point they wriggle and writhe between her legs until her entire body convulses. Then they relax and slide from her fingers, releasing her hands like a pair of fins gently fluttering at her side as she sinks into the dark waters of sleep.

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