Already Talking like a Real Man by Bogdan Dragos

Image Source: Canva

their deaths were

four

days apart

first went father

and then

mother

And now the dark smoke

took the shape of

a cat

and clung to his

shoulder, digging sharp

claws into his

tender flesh

“It hurts,” he cried

“Oh, shut up,” the smoke cat

said, “Be a man. In this

world only the

strong survive. While the weak…

look what happens

to them. You must

become strong.

So start with your father,

he’s been

dead for longer.”

“But I’m scared of blood,”

he cried. “And it

stinks in here.”

“You’re scared because

you’re still not a man

yet. Grab the

fucking cleaver and start

working!”

He didn’t want to die

like them. So he

raised the cleaver above

father’s violet wrist

and dropped it

The blood

squirted stale and

stinky

in all directions

“Ew!”

“Ew is well said,” hissed the

cat. “That was

below pathetic. How are

you gonna get

through the bone with

such weak strokes?

Shame!

You deserve to die just

like them.”

“Hey… I thought you

were my friend.”

“I am your friend,

dumbass. But I would like

to become more

than that, you know? And for

my wish to come

true you must

become

a real man. So do as I say now!”

“What do you mean

more than a

friend?”

“You wouldn’t get it

and you don’t

have to.

What you have to do now

is hurry the fuck up

and grow. Become

a man!”

“But I can’t eat

my parents.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re

not even trying.”

“Can you at least

cook it for me?”

The smoke cat’s

laugh

felt raspy in his ear.

“There you go, already talking

like a real man. Almost.

That’s enough to

get me

quite excited, you know?

Hah, I guess I can help

you a bit.

All right, the straw mattress. Light

it on fire

and get out.”

“What?”

“The house is already

infected with

their sickness. It’s no longer

suitable to live here.

Why not turn it into a

giant oven

and then eat the meat cooked

after the flames die?”

That night

they were perched on the hill

behind the

house,

watching the spiky orange

flames devour the

small cottage

“Dammit,” he said in

a raspy voice. “You bitch

are gonna burn my food. It

better not be all

ashes or I’m gonna

strangle you some.”

The smoke cat

shape shifted slowly

into a more feminine

form, more

human

In her transformation

she made noises

of excitement

at his words

-BOGDAN DRAGOS

Bogdan Dragos supervises casinos for a gambling company, working twelve-hour shifts locked in a dark office full of TV monitors. There he mostly daydreams and writes poems and stories. He also manages a poetry blog Daydreaming as a profession.

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