An essay by an unnamed narrator, as provided by Edward Palumbo
Art by Scarlett O’Hairdye
The person who donated her eyes to my Joanna will not miss them. She died a long while back from an overdose of acetaminophen, as complicated by her being struck by a train. I found little of Rebecca Simpkins, save for the eyes, but no matter, her eyes were all I sought. The orbs were as blue as robin’s eggs and perfect, and I longed for the day when coming home from my lab would mean having those eyes smile upon me, but that will not be possible, not now, for my love, Joanna, is dead. A modern day Frankenstein, they called me, those drama queens and drama kings, if the latter even exists. But I have created no monster, just a beauty formed of the most wonderful elements of many women I have known. But my dream lies dead, not eight feet from my desk, lying prone, a half-eaten dish of cheesecake beside her, a dessert laced with poison, poison you supplied, dear reader, and I certainly hope you are proud of yourself.
To read the rest of this story, check out the Mad Scientist Journal: Winter 2016 collection.
The narrator is a man of science. He is a misunderstood man of 50 years and at least that many months. He seeks the love of a good woman, or several good women, or varying components of several good women comprised to form one good woman–anyway, he seeks love–and that inspires him and in inspiration there is danger. (Not always, but it is a good line.)
Edward Palumbo is a graduate of the University of Rhode Island (1982). His fiction, poems, shorts, and journalism have appeared in numerous periodicals, journals, e-journals and anthologies including Rough Places Plain, Flush Fiction, Tertulia Magazine, Epiphany, The Poet’s Page, Reader’s Digest, Baseball Bard, Dark Matter, and poemkingdom.com. Ed’s literary credo is: if you fall off the horse, get right back on the bicycle.
Scarlett O’Hairdye is a burlesque performer, producer and artist. To learn more, visit her site at www.scarlettohairdye.com.Follow us online: