Where My Balls Once Were by David Mac

Where My Balls Once Were
by David Mac

When the white Cat hears terrible sounds outside, he hides behind the chair.
‘You feline coward,’ I yell, pouring another drink.
‘They’re doom sounds. Don’t you know we’re all gonna die?’ he tells me in cat purr, blink, tail twitch, flick-ear cat thoughts.
‘I knew that all along,’ I slur.

He hears sounds he don’t understand
so he hides behind that grubby, tattered chair.
Me, I sit and drink
and think
of all the fuckers hidden behind chairs and under tables, too afraid to ever come out!

White Cat, as he hides and sits and waits for the death sound (bony reaper head to do skully smile), he licks where his balls once were. I watch him and think: if I didn’t have my balls life would be so much simpler and death wouldn’t be so sad.

‘I could be a God!’ I yell at him.

He looks up and sticks out pink tongue with some fur attached. Calls me a dirty fuck word. Then he lays and stretches out like a fluffy white cat banana, little cat engine purring away. Accept fate, Cat.

And so I sit and wait for stinking death, apocalypse, extinction level event,
wipe out, Armageddon, holocaust, end of life for good (the end, the end).
I rattle ice and drink in my glass. And when it does finally come,
I’ll be behind the sofa
with the white Cat,
licking
where my balls once were,

coz I don’t understand.

Author bio:

David is a a 30-year-old writer from Bedfordshire UK who writes twisted gibberish fiction and poetry. His work's appeared in Ambit, Mud Luscious, Monkey Kettle, This Zine Will Change Your Life, a poetry anthology called Angel's Breath, as well as a few Clockwise Cat issues.