In the hospital they gave him plastic utensils. That was funny to him because he had always been quiet, never got into trouble, and he was often ignored. No one had ever noticed that his painfully shy exterior hid a savage and unstable heart. But one day he said to his doctor in a low and tremulous voice that he didn’t think he could ever be free until he pealed the skin from his body. Now they treat him as if he’s a dangerous character, speak to him using carefully modulated tones, check on him every fifteen minutes, even while he sleeps, and he is denied the use of real tableware, but at least they’re finally paying attention.
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