O, how now,
What do I see before the mirror?
Last week there was only one.
Today, three?
Out, out, damn spots, out I say!
No Shakespeare, I,
But damn if I allow these spots to stay;
Alas, the sun’s beam has seared my skin.
Now I must cover up
Before they multiply and prosper.
Image by FreeImages.com/sardinelly
A short stack of dried human skin trimmed into 8 ½” x 11” pages sat on the desk as Walter Penn pondered on his next flesh fiction. He considered the title, Flayed Minion, in memory of the owner who was formerly bound by the parchment on which he will now scribe with maroon lettering. His ink flowed through a special pen cartridge connected to a tube attached to a hypodermic needle full of citric acid solution, mixed with blood from an unwilling human aorta donor. Continue reading
Karina Pinella 
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