Lament for the Creature from the Black LagoonJamison Crabtree
Amphibian-men don’t frighten me unless they’re holding something— violins especially; when I tried to play the violin Jane found in the attic, the pegs held as tight as teeth so I played out of tune the only song I knew, that of the body splintering itself. And if you, Creature from the Black Lagoon, emerged from whatever depths you’ve found, covered in wrack but playing a fiddle perfectly, I would be forced to nod at the miracle of the skill. I would need to reevaluate my life because I have a secret. Which is this: I feel like I should be more important than any sea creature, though I know scientifically that I am not. But I should be more important than you, with your horse eyes, your capon head with its same dumb capon comb. Tonight I am thankful that you can only play the woman as an instrument, and that there’s only the one awful note again and again. Creature, I cannot stand the sound of women crying because I have spent too much time listening to it. Another secret: Appalachia houses hundreds of monsters all living in seclusion, chopping wood beside their cabins I know; my father comes from there.
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