The Spaces Between Your Fingers

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This is a part of Derya's childhood memory.  It shows how much imagination kids have and how it all sort of disappears as you grow up.  This is one of the many times her and her friends went out looking for dead bodies that the old crazy guy would cut up.


            One day I was playing outside with my sister and a couple of friends, and I swear the crazy guy from across the street was watching us from the dark window, which was probably where he killed the people and cut them up into chunks so that they could fit into those trash bags—we didn’t have Glad Forceflex back then.  Everybody knew he hid the bodies in black trash bags and enjoyed eating innocent little songbirds after.  

We saw him looking at us and froze like we were playing freeze-tag.  And when he was gone, we told each other stories about the noises we heard coming from his apartment last night.

            “Probably killed another one,” Luke my next-door neighbor said with his authoritative voice.  He was one of the oldest amongst us, not to mention the biggest.

            “Yea, I bet,” we all agreed and shook our heads in unison.

            “Let’s go and check out the dump sight and see if we can find the body!” another suggested; and we all hopped on our bikes and rode to the dumpster located all the way at the edge of the complex right next to the forest where we weren’t allowed to go because that’s where the kidnappers lived.  We never went all the way next to it though.  It wasn’t safe.  The crazy man’s partners would always be hiding close-by, guarding the place, in case smart people like us decided to ask questions. 

            We rode to the edge of the block and waited for the slower people to catch up before we huddled together and walked slowly to a place where we could see the dumpster.  The guys went first, of course, since they were supposed to be braver and stronger.  Once we got close enough to see the dumpster, we searched for the black bag with the cut up body inside and sure enough we saw one on the floor right in front of the smelly, green thing.

            “I told you he killed another one,” Luke whispered, smiling at how smart he was.  He always told us he would make a nice detective when he grew up.  He’s a chef now. 

            We all just stood there, hiding behind some bush or tree and arguing over who should go and check out the body, like we always did.  We got close to sending a kid there a couple of times, but each time they took a step towards the dumpster, they would see a guard and yell “RUN!” and save us from becoming chopped up bone-in ribeye.              

Human Steak

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