The Humpbiscuit has Skinny Wrists

© Crispin Best

The humpbiscuit sips from a hipflask and looks around and feels possibility. The humpbiscuit has skinny wrists. He came in a spaceship. If it is autumn, the leaves fall. At all times a single damp shoe is wedged beneath the rear-right wheel of an SUV. The humpbiscuit is here among us. Welcome.

The humpbiscuit came here because of an argument. The humpbiscuit felt a pain in his middle and saw blood in his faeces. He went to the doctor. The doctor spoke very little of the language the humpbiscuit was familiar with and wrote the name of a product on a Post-It note. The doctor put the Post-It in the humpbiscuit's hand. The doctor looked at the humpbiscuit for a second and nodded and then swivelled in his chair and looked back at his computer screen. The humpbiscuit opened his mouth.

There is a pain in the humpbiscuit's middle still. It's worse. Still he feels possibility. The humpbiscuit is among us. He needs somewhere to sleep. He breathes for a while and then sits down and gets up and looks at his hands and finds a mattress and sleeps and in the mornings there are crows.

The humpbiscuit went to the pharmacy. He did not know where he would find the product. He looked at the name of the product on the Post-It note. He walked up and down the aisles for many hours. People moved their bodies gently to music. There was music playing. The people moved their bodies gently and in time and it was natural.

The damp mattress and crows go on for some time. The humpbiscuit looks at his hands. He wants to cry but at first only just.

After many hours in the pharmacy the humpbiscuit had found the product he needed. He went to the cash register and focused on the display as the girl who looked like a killed deer scanned the product and when the price of the product flashed up the humpbiscuit remembered and put his hand in his pocket for the money.

Dying makes the humpbiscuit walk faster, but only a little. Like everyone else. The humpbiscuit looks at his hands all the time now. What is it? His spaceship is gone now, isn't it? It's been three weeks now.

The humpbiscuit could not read the instructions on the product. He used his imagination. The product was a cream. It smelled very nice. The humpbiscuit was surprised that the product smelled so nice since it was a product for the rectum. The humpbiscuit smelled the cream on his fingertip and felt peculiar about the cream smelling so good and then he put his finger up his rectum and applied the cream and washed his hands and smelled his hands and his hands smelled good.

The humpbiscuit is stuck among us. He does not understand a weather that involves hail when a stone falls on him when he is asleep. His spaceship is gone now. He has not eaten in three days. The humpbiscuit feels so cold. If he has ribs, they are closing. His hands have turned purple and he looks at them and he wants to cry.

The argument: The humpbiscuit's big brother found the product beneath the humpbiscuit's green towel in the bathroom and took a photograph of the product. He did something that informed a lot of people about the humpbiscuit's need for the product. The humpbiscuit found out and screamed. He screamed. He slammed his bedroom door and broke it. He sat on the floor of his bedroom and wept and then got up and ran out of the front door gasping for breath and got into the spaceship. The humpbiscuit came here.

The humpbiscuit wears a cloak. Only. Still. He sleeps under hail and wakes all night to sirens. When someone else wants the mattress they come and the humpbiscuit has to run. The pain in the humpbiscuit's middle is worse now and his spaceship is gone. The humpbiscuit finds somewhere and slides his body beneath cardboard and blows into his hands. His hands smell like bad soil and the humpbiscuit is whimpering always in a soft way when the pain is worse and there is blood in his faeces still when he makes it in the gutter in the middle of the night while the foxes make their noise and scratch themselves and watch.