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Hinge |
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Puppeteers |
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The Night Sky |
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Beautiful |
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Two Stories |
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Kevin Sampsell |
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Laird Hunt (part 2) |
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Most recent fiction by Lydia Ship has appeared or is forthcoming in The Battered Suitcase, The 2nd Hand, Neon, The Apple Valley Review, The Pedestal, The Armchair Aesthete, A Capella Zoo, and Night Train. She is a Contributing Editor at The Chattahoochee Review. |
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Photo by Valerie Molloy |
Unfortunately, Chin fed her sock puppets too many vegetables. She didn't always feed them in front of me, but the smell of steamed broccoli and half-empty bowls of it greeted me in our dorm suite when I came back from class, and Chin's newest sock puppet, a gray-faced monkey with blonde pigtails, lay wilted on our communal table. All of Chin's sock puppets featured blonde pigtails and red lips. Feed it Lucky Charms or candy, I told her, but no: everyone had to eat vegetables, and everyone had to exercise, and everyone had to study, and everyone had to tidy up, including the sock puppets, and I guess I don't have to mention that her sock puppet died — the face turned black and the inside slimed Chin's hand. I knew her sock puppets had short life spans, but I'd never actually seen one die, dark face like negative energy, invisible eyes. It looked stained, a defiled beauty contestant. Your life is supposed to mean something! she screamed in its black drooping face, and I stepped back. How long had she been shouting at it? You're just lazy, and you always were! Chin shook it. Chin, wait, I said, but then she called me lazy, threw the sock puppet away, washed her hands, and slammed her door. The next day, I took the trash out and stood by the dumpster long after I'd swung the bag in, listening to the echo and echo and echo. I walked to a children's boutique and bought a large pair of socks made from rainbow whale and heart print. I ran my fingers lightly over the soft fabric, and then with a permanent marker, I drew eyes on one of the playful socks, and suddenly I had a tiny sock puppet. What's your purpose? I prattled. Are you working hard? I petted it. Eat your lima beans. I gave it a gumdrop. I hugged it. One day, Chin caught me playing with my puppet. I didn't know you liked sock puppets. She stared. Its name is Tickle, I told her, and she reached out and tickled its belly. This is a different kind of sock puppet, she said. No, I said. But it disgusts me, she said.