curse you

Anybody who knows me well knows how much I love the wintertime. By contrast, I find spring to be a damp, depressing season in Atlantic Canada. I hate the month of May the way some people hate February.

Today was such a crummy grey day that I decided to go down to the riverbank and let a beaver chew my leg off. I pulled up my pantleg and he went around and around my shin. He was able to pull my foot and ankle away with his little paws, leaving my shin-bone sharpened to a bone-marrow pencil-point.

The beaver paddled away, clutching my amputated foot between his teeth. Dark drops of rain fell into the river around him.

I found a tree-branch to use as a cane and hobbled back to the dirt road. I dragged my stump behind me to spell out giant letters on the ground. From the sky, a dirty crimson message would be visible in the roadway: “CURSE YOU…”

That’s as far as I got before I ran out of blood and passed out.

When I woke up it was raining quite a bit harder. The beaver had come back and chewed off my other foot as well. My pointy bleeding legs were of uneven length.

I flipped over onto my stomach and crawled back to the house, using my elbows to pull my body through the mud.

I think I’m just going to stay on the couch for the next few weeks.

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