Part 6 of 6 by Peter Wild

Concupiscent, made monstrous by your demure obeisance, I grew lusty and flagrant, crossing swords with whosoever took my passing fancy. And, as I dallied gradually further and further from home, sometimes for days at a time, you – you – grew strange, prowling the house like a vagrant Victorian, turning first all of the mirrors and later all of the pictures and photographs so that they faced away from you, prohibiting the use of any item powered by electricity during the hours of daylight and, latterly, posting meaningless bulletins (listing everything from types of jam to organisations responsible for public utilities) on doorjambs and walls and, on one occasion, to the ceiling above our bed. I knew it was a situation that could not be allowed to endure and yet, even so, I did nothing. I allowed you to wade out into the shallows, figuratively speaking, watching from the safety of the shore, my heart in the grip of trepidation and hushed, tentative awe, wondering what you would do next, wondering how mad a person could be before they were stopped by outside forces. There was a crisis (your older brother caught you bent over in the shoe cupboard under the stairs snapping 7” singles into bite-size chunks which were then placed upon your tongue like communion wafers, one atop the other, until your mouth was full of fractured slices of vinyl and blood, the sides of your cheeks in tatters from the shifting slivers) and an intervention, in which you removed, pointedly, from ‘my care’ to a secure facility capable of – if not curing – at least restoring a semblance of your former well-being. If there is a lesson to be learned, the lesson is this: however indirectly, be careful what you wish for.


Peter Wild, author of Deerhoof, Part 5, makes his online home at