In the fourth quarter of this fiscal year things really went downhill for you.
You cut ties with everyone in your life and decided to live in the rafters of the place where you work. You wanted to become The Phantom Of The place where you work. That, I think, is where things started to really go downhill.
You started out dropping staplers into empty waste cans from holes in the ceiling when people weren’t looking but that was before the employee lounge fridge ran out of food and you had to start eating mice.
Things really started to go downhill once you started eating mice.
You tried to keep up the pranks, revenge, you called it. That was before your skin started to change color.
Things really started to go downhill once your skin started to change color. Sure, before you were pale, but consistently so. But now your fingertips were the color of army fatigues, and you couldn’t feel them anymore.
You thought there might have been some sort of mold up there in the rafters. But it didn’t come off no matter how much you scrubbed. That was before you tried amputation. In the fourth quarter of this fiscal year, things really went downhill for you.
Sara June Woods is overly infatuated with her dog. A surprising amount of her poetry (which has been or will be published in PANK, LIES/ISLE, trnsfr, Housefire and Everyday Genius) is about her dog, and frankly we’re a little worried about her.