There is a raccoon rotting in these walls

in a room of strangers i smell it reeking of mildew and body odor. isn’t it beautiful? cut from the

finest tattered tulle. sewn together with the guts from maggots in the plaster. listen as it groans

and flexes its claws at nothing. i did not brush my teeth last night and now my teeth are grinding

into nothing. debris stuck in their roots. they gnash and gnash until they tumble out in twos in

pirouettes and jetés and coat the floor in rot. aren’t i beautiful? gums scarlet and dull cheeks,

drained like the winter, like the death of the planet means the blood has left my face. everything

smells like seventh grade, when the antiseptic on the desks wore off halfway through the day

and the halls remembered how to stink, dead roaches basking on the tiles. nine years later i am

still rotting away in a classroom, but instead of bomb threats lining the walls there is only decay

and the raccoon scathed.

About the Author

Ven Mubarak is a senior Creative Writing major and a Theater Arts minor. They are forever yearning for something out of reach and bide their time writing poetry, fiction, and musings.