A Love Story, Told in My Monstrosity
by Anna Yeatts
The chains on the swings were uneven. If we kept swinging, we'd collide, both of us
flying higher and higher, closer and closer, until our legs tangled and our monsters touched. Even
then they knew each other. My monster and yours.
When I laughed and tasted sunshine in my mouth, my monster reached out its black
tongue and tried to touch you. You clamped your hands over your mouth, your elbows locked
around the creaking chains of the swing to hold on, but it wasn't enough. The black tendrils of
your monster hungered for mine.
I swung too high and touched the sky. Marble clouds tossed me to the ground, a pile of
broken girl pride. I skinned my knee. You jumped off your swing and came to my side. Your
monster slithered from the corner of your puckered mouth as you considered my red-knitted
knee. With shaking fingers, you picked the grass away. Together, we watched dewdrops of blood
well up, fat and shiny.
I touched the back of your head, barbershop fresh, and the hairs tickled my palm.
You looked up. I looked down.
Our monsters looked out.
They said hello. I see you. I'm here too.