Say, Cut, Map

Начало книги

He cut off his hand. She couldn’t face him.

“Look at me.”

His lung collapsed when he was nine, but this was unlike that. He was wrapped. Nipping blood.

“You don’t understand.”

They dropped him off four hours prior, quarter to sunset. He limped before. A bit of bandage came undone and flickered as he walked. He got closer.

“Please touch me.”

An old man crept out of a house’s shadow and went to support him. He nearly missed the man’s skin. His eyes caught some portion of neighboring light. Alarm flowed back down into his hand or where was it. Someone kicked him out of the truck.

“Oh my god.”

She grabbed him from behind as he fell, and they slowed down. The bandage was a clean dome. Mounted with moss the color of the backs of ants. He tried to sleep. She left him on the ground.

“You realize you have one choice.”

The voice was thicker. The syrup. They cooked it over campfires, ladled it with hammered spoons. He’d seen pig’s blood. Before he held his hand in his other. She kept teasing, about his knees. In bed. Waterfalls had become candid. Blossoms of flowers had to be kept. She smiled. He picked up his eyes and they trailed out. The black face was in front of him and widening. Hold still.

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