Suckerpunch Read Online Free

dear.
    Mom, can I borrow your kitchen knife?
    Yes, dear.
    Mom, can I smoke a joint and piss on that fancy rug in the living room?
    Yes, dear.
    While I was lying there in the hospital bed, my father went looking for my severed finger. This brought me some satisfaction, imagining him on the driveway, tie loosened, searching for my lost digit and in the end finding only a small red pool.
    I have this theory about what happened to my finger. Our street was always mobbed with crows. By late afternoon you could hear them making a racket outside, squawking as if they were on fire. I’m almost certain that one of them must’ve picked up my finger. I could see the crow now, swooping down and gliding to our driveway, shuffling toward the blood, then taking off with my finger at the end of its beak, pointing at the sky.
    Â 
    In our motel room at the Travelodge I was watching bodies undulate on the television screen. They wererainbowed and speckled with static and swayed as if underwater, swimming in and out of a surface that rippled and waved. The bodies, the two that I could make out, were naked.
    Is that a porno? Oliver wanted to know.
    Who brought roses? I said. I smell roses.
    No one brought roses. You’re tripping.
    You don’t smell any roses?
    Oliver walked past the television and smeared its colors, which trailed behind him like comet dust.
    There was a knock and Darren pushed the drapes to the side before opening the door. It was Beth Guzman and the girl I’d seen two months ago at Tempo Records, her hair now green. At the record store it had been black, a black so dark it turned blue when she stood by the store’s window, sunlit and plastered with band stickers. Now I was tripping and the stud on her nose winked like a star. She turned her head and her hair was green fire swelling. She didn’t seem too concerned about it.
    Hey, Marcus, Beth said.
    Call him Nub, Britt said.
    I’m not calling him that.
    But he has one.
    I raised my hand. I mostly did this for the green-haired girl. I closed one eye so that she occupied the space where the rest of my finger should have been.
    I’m Ashley, she said.
    Hi, I said, and laughed because my hand was already up, waving hello.
    The night went like this: I sat on the edge of the bed and watched the door close and open and then someone else stood in the doorway. It could’ve been the same person, changing his or her own face, but the room began to fill so I knew that wasn’t possible. The scent of roses drifted in and out. Beer cans hissed open, the sound of bottle rockets taking off. The bodies warbled on the screen. Someone jumped on or off the bed and the mattress bucked underneath me. One voice braided with another voice. When someone laughed, the room exploded with pink light.
    Ashley walked past the television screen and the colors followed her.
    You’re killing me, I said.
    Excuse me? she said, turning toward me.
    I’m dying here, looking at you.
    You’re wasted.
    You’re still killing me.
    Thanks.
    Your hair was on fire when you got here and now it’s dripping lava.
    Like I said, she said, and stepped into the bathroom.
    In the corner of the room, Beth was topless and straddling some guy sitting on the yellow love seat. His hands were a pair of tarantulas that slowly crawled up her naked back.
    Yo, Freak Show, Britt said. Oliver’s out, man.
    At first I thought he was talking to me in code, but then I looked where Britt was looking and saw Oliver slumped in the corner, the side of his head pressed against the nightstand as if he were listening to something inside one of the drawers. Harsh light from the toppled lamp washed out his face.
    Oh, I said.
    There was fierce banging at the door and everyone shut up and looked at one another.
    Hide, Darren said. Hide , you fucks.
    We all scooted into the bathroom, shushing oneanother. A big guy everyone called Tower carried Oliver and sat him on the toilet. Six people stood