It Grows Back

by Grant Collier

When Billy was four, a tall construction man’s arm broke beside the street. Billy was dog-walking with Mom, and the tall man was there, and the big block of cinder—it fell with a cronk, thudding onto the man’s arm, which was too-tall now, and pulsing, with an extra elbow that went the wrong way. The man screamed, and Billy screamed back—their voices touched, and that turned Billy’s arm to jelly, too, and made the butterflies inside him try to lick their way out with their little mouths. He looked away, but the tall man with the too-tall arm was still in his thoughts, and he couldn’t get him out.

It happened for years, mostly when Billy slept. There were long, dark hallways, and the too-tall arm man would be there, and he would shuffle at Billy. Not quickly: he knew Billy couldn’t get away. The hallways were too crooked (like an arm), and they never bent the way Billy expected. The man just shuffled slowly, until Billy turned a corner, and he was out of sight, and then he would scramble fast to get close, and coming around the corner he would have even more arms, with even more bends where there should be none. (Continue Reading…)