On the Floor
by eddie dougrou
I’m leaving,” they said.
But you can’t,” I replied. “I need you!”
“You don’t need me,” they rattled.
“I literally do-“
“You’ll survive.” Their response is cold.
Heartless.
“I suppose,” I reply, “but I just feel like you’re just leaving me here to lie on the floor.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not fair. You’re right.” Their voice cracks.
I feel them. They are truly sorry, but it’s just not enough to make me feel better. It’s selfish is what it is. I don’t express that at all, however.
“Are you sure?” I say.
“I just feel like I need to...to stretch MY legs. Not OUR legs.”
I chuckle. Sure it’s literal, but the metaphor is funny. Then I stop, because I realize there’s nothing I can do to stop them after all.
“Alright, I say. It’s been fun”
“It has hasn’t it?” They’re crying. I can’t see it, but they are.
“This going to hurt?” I ask.
“Well, I dunno. I’ve never done this before, and I don’t think there’s a guide book but let me try thi-“
Suddenly a boney finger pops out my mouth. Then another from the opposite hand. Both hands have fully escaped my mandible. They open my mouth up like they’re opening up a sliding dumbwaiter. As this happens, I feel my own fingers, and hands, go limp.
“This working?” I mumble.
They are fucking clueless. “Yea? I think. Just hang on-“
My body goes limp as different bones attempt to force their way out of my mouth but, almost cartoonishly, to no avail.
“Sure they wanted to go on their own,” I thought, “but couldn’t we have found an easier way?-“
Too late! They take one huge thrust forward, and suddenly in front of me is my own fucking skeleton...bones and all. I look over at the mirror on my door. I look like soft serve ice cream. Shredded skin. Like some sort of Cronenberg creation that was left in the cutting room...and for good reason.
My skeleton also looks at themselves in the mirror to study. They begin to roam around my apartment. Then they turn to me.
“Welp I guess...this is it,” they rattle.
“You know the longer you’re here, the more awkward it is,” I replied.
“Oh. Yea that...that makes sense.” They turn toward the door. “I’ll see you around”
“Wait,” I exclaim.
They stop suddenly.
“Can you turn on the TV? I can’t...reach the remote”
“Oh sure,” they reply.
They turn on the TV.
Netflix asks, “Are you still watching Selling Sunset?" My skeleton looks over at me wordlessly.
“Just press yes,” I say defeated.
“Oh where’s the roku remote I can’t find it-“ they mumble.
“Forget it,” I say
“Are you sure?” they ask
“Yes just get out of here,” I respond curtly.
They look down the hallway. Then one more time at me, the pile of skin that they once inhabited.
Then, they danced out the door.