Postcards From No Man's Land

Shadow

Her name was Shadow, but she was as pale as a ghost.

Her perfume smelled like a rainbow array. A barrage of scents that oozed, sickly sweet, from beneath her powdered skin.

I kissed her, and I was enveloped in a vanilla-raspberry-hyacinth sea. An ocean of femininity.

Most people paid her, but I was an exception. She liked me. That was her flaw.

When I climbed on top of her, there were mounds of pale flesh between us. Her body was thick and doughy, powdered with talc that reminded me of Mom. I wanted to crawl into her plush flesh and simply fall asleep.

But I would always, always dream of you.

Her breasts were like the softest pillows. I would rest my head upon them, and she would stroke my head. She liked me. That was her flaw.

What do you want me to do for you? she asked.

I thought of you. Hold me, I said to her.

People pay me for sex, honey, she said, and she began to undress.

Mikey, I chose her, and you never knew. You would have said, Why her?

She was fat and soft, while you were a living skeleton, all sharp edges and angles. She smelled like too much perfume, while you smelled of teenage boy, sweat and jerking off.

She was a woman, and she liked me. But she didn't love me. You did. That was your flaw.

I chose her because she wasn't like you. She was as far from you as I could possibly get.