The Missals

I like boys.

Girls can get icky. Girls are soft and smell good, but that's all of it when it comes to girls.

Boys on the other hand....
When Dougie hugs me, it feels very nice. Dougie is tall and his body frames mine perfectly. He wraps me up in a big hug, arms binding me to him like strangled prey. Dougie is a foot and a half taller than me, but he can manage to put his head on the top of mine. Sometimes, I like to play coy and struggle and try to run away. I have to act like I hate it, because I think Dougie wouldn't like me anymore if I did.

I guess I like Dougie.

Dougie is an unsightly character.

How do I describe Dougie?

He dresses in shirts you get from charity events and jeans from your mother's closet. His sneakers consist of one pair of cruddy New Balances that cost him 20 dollars.

He is too tall and too pale. He is awkwardly lanky and can’t play water polo for his life. We sing French karaoke but he can’t pronounce shit. He doesn’t listen to music but plays the cello. He has a creepy way of smiling that scares you. One lip hangs over a set of teeth like a mad dog. His short hair is always unkempt in a unsexy way and is an odd shade of blonde. He has a straight nose I want to run my fingers across.

His eyes are piercing and bold. They look straight at me.

He is quirky and complains too much for his own good. His voice is a constant whine.

He is attractive and appealing in the sort of way you want him to throw you in a car and drive far. Far, far away.

---

I woke up this morning. I woke up three times, because my phone has a disgusting alarm that makes me want to sleep even more and forget about it, but the tone is so horrid and screechy and sickly sweet that I can’t ignore it. I also had a bad dream. I dreamt about my family in a nice big house. We were in the midst of a zombie outbreak, but we had to be quiet or the zombies would hear us and eat our flesh. We were well-supplied in this house; there was hot water and white rice everyday. I could drink milk and eat candy and no one yelled at me. I could turn up the temperature thing, a thermostat, as my father calls it, to 80 degrees and it didn’t cost a thing. It was a wonderful dream.

My brother was holed up in his room, playing his warfare games, my father and uncle out killing zombies and fetching resources, and my mother; well who knows where she was?

I was alone in the living room.
There was a majestic television shining in the sun rays, a creamy white cowhide couch, and a warm table made of cherry wood. The rug was comfortably shaggy; I napped on the floor everyday and sunbathed in the warm light. My tail would flick back and forth lazily. I licked rich, sweet milk and blinked slowly with heavily-lidded eyes. I think I was very happy, being in that light and not doing a thing.

I had a bat next to me just in case of zombie outbreak.