a short story by Curtis
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STEVE LOOKED IN HIS MIRROR AND NOTICED A PIGMY RAT SITTING ON HIS SHOULDER. HE GRASPED AT HIS SHOULDER, AND FOUND NO PIGMY RAT SITTING THERE ON SAID SHOULDER. “DEAR GOD, WHERE IS THIS PIGMY RAT?” HE ASKED HIMSELF ALOUD, TO NO ONE IN PARTICULAR. HE KEPT STARING INTO THE MIRROR, THE PIGMY RAT APPEARING TO STILL REST ON HIS SHOULDER.
“I LOOK A LOT LIKE JAMES DEAN,” steve said, “AND THAT IS QUITE FINE BY ME.”
STEVE NODDED IN APPROVAL AS HE BROKE THE FOURTH WALL AND TURNED TO THE AUDIENCE: YOU GUYS LIKE JAMES DEAN, RIGHT?
HE CABBAGE-PATCHED UP THE FOURTH WALL SO IT WAS ALL TOGETHER AGAIN, AND HE TURNED AWAY FROM THE MIRROR. NO PIGMY RAT. DAMN, HE THOUGHT; HE REALLY LIKED THAT PIGMY RAT. THAT WAS SOME KIM POSSIBLE SHIT RIGHT THERE.
HE BREATHED IN AND BREATHED OUT AND BREATHED IN AND BREATHED OUT AGAIN, AS THE PIGMY RAT CLIMBED UP HIS BACK, AND HE JUMPED, STARTLED BY ITS RETURN.
“EVERYTHING WAS BEAUTIFUL AND NOTHING HURT”– KURT VONNEGUT, BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS.
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