Cotton Candy Floss Patrick L. Cognato
I twist open my big numb skull. The wretched ridges squeak apart as I lift the upper piece of my cranium. As I stare forward, the hum of my machine whirs above me and my head gyrates with it. Good, it’s still working. The first little strand of cotton candy brain chances its way into the air and drifts down before my eyes. It falls into my fingers and I brace it from breaking. I let the strand dissolve on my tongue, sweet. My finger probes deeper into my mouth where I beg it for flavor. Sucking deeper, knuckles graze my teeth to no avail. Reaching up, my wet fingers massage into exposed brain, my saliva melting pink matter and fusing it to my fingers, sticky.
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