Enda Things by Michael G. O'Connell
An ear plopped into the sink and slid toward the drain.
“Ppphhhfffuu-u-u-u-cccccckkkk-k-k-k-k-kk-k!” the figure groaned as she adjusted her hair to cover this latest hole.
Psychotic laughter pummeled the back of her head.
“It isn-n-n-n’t l-lik-ke I can’t h-e-e-e-ear-r-r-r you, B-b-bru-en-nda. Tha-at par-rt is in-n-ns-side.” Each day, speaking got harder. Her obituary taunted from the mirror. Enda Marie Powers, 23. Too young, she thought, and slammed her fist through the mirror. There was no blood, just the rancid green ooze. Enda raised her fist, admiring the embedded shards. She spun.
Snikt!
Brenda’s ear dropped.
“Twin-n-ns again-n-n!” Enda smiled.
Michael G. O’Connell is a writer of short genre fiction and an award-winning poet. Published in various formats worldwide, his most recent work can be found in the poetry anthology, Moss Gossamer. He lives in the Sunshine State and is currently at work on his first novel.
Illustration by Michael G. O’Connell
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