Sugarplum Fairy Dust by Matthew Dexter

I lay my mosquito gnawed neck on the rusty railroad tracks and yank down my 

tighty-whities. I came out to my parents yesterday. Mom advised me to kill myself. Dad’s 

Nike Air Max burst one of the zits on my pimpled ass as he hurled me from the flying 

termite doorframe. I'm not a girl. I'm not a boy. I listen to the whistle of a drunken 

locomotive swirl through foggy tears. I’m trained in self-defense and hot yoga. My fingers 

vanish into the wet warmth of my body: a shell my parents will bury with disgust. Dad 

always said that being gay is worse than cancer. Lesbians are more feared in my family 

than Leukemia. Saliva is my Lord and Savior. My soul is an empty sarcophagus. Grandma 

called me a clown when she caught me wearing her granny panties. That vision killed her. 

Shattered her heart. I called an ambulance. Her funeral churned cumulus, an aging corpse 

for flies to fuck. My severed head tumbles down a grassy mound collaged with fire ants. 

Hope holds new meaning. My brain is lucid, my body finally free. No longer a basket case. 

I’m a moaning locomotive making love to an ant colony in an orgy of fog and tears.

Matthew Dexter lives and breathes in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. An expatriate author best known for eating shrimp tacos and drinking enough Pacifico to kill six blue marlins, he’s the Lil Wayne of literature. Matthew’s fiction has been published in hundreds of literary journals and dozens of anthologies. He is the author of the novel THE RITALIN ORGY and the story collection SLUMBER PARTY SUICIDE PACT. Unfortunately, Matthew also writes abhorrent freelance pieces for exorbitant amounts of pesos to pay the bills while drinking cervezas in paradise with tourists. This lunatic can be found here: matthewdexter.com.