Harry was thick skinned, that’s not a turn of phrase. To be fair he was thin skinned where it counted, but his wrists? Thick. He’d been digging away with a bone saw for twenty minutes before he saw a single drop of blood. Thankfully his persistence paid off, and bleed he did - finally.
It was time to celebrate. He made himself a toasted cheese sandwich and sat on an upturned bucket in the backyard. The morning sun shone warm and easy on the back of his neck and rolled down beneath his shirt like honey. Above him the sky sat still, open and honest. Harry crunched into his sandwich. A warm oily glob of gooey cheese greased through corner of his mouth and landed on his shoe, man, it was a really good sandwich.
As he sat there soaking up the sun, eyeballing the everything, chewing, slurping and bleeding, Harry realised he had it all. Every little bit, and then some. Harry started to sing. He didn’t bother with words; he just set loose the sounds in his head, in his fingers and balls, blistering and free to the wobbly cadence of his tin can heart. A spittley crumb peppered mist painted his song as his joy rang up and out into the May morning sky, a disgusting, blood pounding, dream-weaving warble.
A magpie fell from the sky and stuck like a javelin in the grass, stone dead. Its bird beak in the earth and its bird bum mooning the heavens, a mere foot from Harry’s mere foot. Amazing. Harry kept singing. A seagull landed on its side, stiff as a board. Harry bit deeper into his sandwich and pushed his song out harder, and higher. Another bird fell, and another, and another. They kept on coming, thicker and faster. The heavy thump of stiff bird on crisp cut grass played beautifully with Harry’s song. A jumbo jet crushed the house next door, and then seconds later the burning screaming rubble was subsequently body slammed by a police helicopter. Harry’s heart opened up and he sang and sang and chewed and sang. Meteors came crashing around him, and satellites, then stars, a shitty old space station and the moon. It all fell at his feet, begging forgiveness.
Harry finished his sandwich. Harry finished his song. He went inside and did the dishes, wondering if his friends would believe him.