Numero Cinco

Five years ago. My first published story, ‘Big Mouth’, was run at a website called Weirdyear.

250 words. Not very good. The website doesn’t exist anymore. May as well throw it up here.

Dolores held the magnifying glass up to her mouth and smiled, “I want it to look exactly like this.”
“You want everything to be bigger? Do you mean just the lips and teeth too?” Dr. Graves arched a brow, confused as to why anyone would want their entire mouth to be grotesquely large.
“The whole thing, I always felt like my mouth was too small. I want everyone to notice when I smile, to notice when I eat.”
“Alright…” the doctor fidgeted in his chair, his mind tripping over itself to think of the right thing to say, “Realize, I’m only a plastic surgeon, I can plump your lips and make them fuller or larger in your case, but everything else is a little out of my reach.”
“Do you have any peers that have that kind of reach?” she asked.
“Well, I know a few specialists, but I don’t…”
“Do whatever needs to be done and we’ll get it to work. I assure you, I can pay for everything.”
Thirteen months later, Dolores’ entire mouth took up almost 50 % of her face. She was proud—this wasn’t another inflated lip job. Her jaw and teeth had been enhanced with bone grafts and state of the art procedures from overseas. There were many that labeled her a freak, but Dolores only saw opportunity and beauty in the mirror.
This was the year she would finally win the Northeast Pie Eating Championship.

It’s a little embarrassing to post this? I don’t know. It’s maybe more weird than embarrassing.

So, five years on. A lot has happened since then. Good things and bad things (maybe not entirely bad), headaches, and lots of new friends (none of which are headaches, except for you, yeah you). It feels weird to be a lot more confidant in my writing.

There are definitely times I wish I didn’t know so much about publishing. I do miss the ignorance and general desire to be published instead of rolling my eyes at the latest clusterfuck. Then I remember all the great friends and stories that wouldn’t exist without those shitty moments. I remember that I get to do something I love and occasionally get paid for doing it. That’s insane, isn’t it? Set aside all the lofty goals and I’ve checked off most of the broad strokes, haven’t I? How fucking cool is that?

Anyway, happy birthday, ‘Big Mouth’; you’re a terrible, short, mess of a story but I’ll love you and I’ll always love what you meant.


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