Penny Puppet: A Novel by Jason Hyde

Author:Jason Hyde [Hyde, Jason]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-11-11T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

In her dreams she is five, maybe six. Her and mom moved in with one of her mother’s boyfriends. She slept in a gigantic bed with a thick comforter. The lights came on and a man with thick blonde hair and a bushy mustache was stood over the bed yelling at her. Mom was behind him, tugging him back by his arm, tears in her eyes. The shrill she made still haunted Penny’s head.

The man was jabbing something towards little Penny’s face, like an attacking cobra. It was a stick of deodorant, the white inside broken and falling out. The man yelled that she had broken it. That she was a fucking idiot and had no business touching his shit.

Penny was apologizing and said she was only playing with it. Her mom said please and stop. The man threw the deodorant and hit her face and cried. The man said shut the fuck up, you little bitch.

Her mom hit the back of his head and the man pushed her to the ground. He told them both to get the fuck out and that he didn’t need this shit.

Penny wakes and sees the clock on the nightstand says 1:00pm. She sits up and puts her clothes on. It takes her a minute to remember where she is. She sees Mike passed out naked on the bed. Kelsie isn’t there. She looks on the floor for her clothes but doesn’t see them.

The living room is the same messy state as the night before. Still no sign of Kelsie. In the kitchen, she fills a cup with tap water and sucks it down. She fills it again and drinks it, swallowing so hard her throat hurts. Penny walks outside and it’s bright and hot and she hates it. She walks in the heat back to her apartment.

…

Inside, she smells her armpits and makes a foul face and strips and takes a shower. She comes out with a towel wrapped around her and sits on the futon. She pops a pill in her mouth and washes it down with water. Penny lights a smoke and texts Kelsie.

Hey, where are you? U okay?

She lays on the futon and smokes two more cigarettes while watching her phone. After an hour she texts:

?

Her nails dig into the familiar bliss of her cuticle. Dead skin flicks and falls from her finger like dusty fallout. Pressing harder, she lifts a new chuck free, exposing the red pool beneath. She presses it and squeezes the blood out like popping a pimple.

Good to the last drop.

She sucks it until the bleeding stops. Tines of blood are under her nail. With her other hand, she lifts the flap of flesh and presses it back down. It looks like a tiny mouth and she imagines it talking.

What would a wound say if it could talk?

Another pill and more cigarettes and after another hour with no reply, she falls asleep. She dreams she’s in her house, but it does not look like her house.

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