Fungus of the Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

to do with you,” I say. “I’m sorry he showed up like that.”
    “Who is he?”
    “I don’t discuss him with clients.”
    “But he showed up during my investigation. Don’t I have a right to know?”
    “No.”
    Rhianna sighs. “Are we going to spend the rest of our time together fighting?”
    I run my hands down my face. “Alright. I’ll tell you.”
    “Thank you.”
    I stare at the crowbar beside my foot. “First you need to know that years ago, back when I was alive, I realized I was a woman in a man’s body.”
    “Oh.”
    “But I never told anybody. And I didn’t even let myself think about it very much. All my life, I acted like the man everyone expected me to be. And when I died, the façade I created became the Man in the Crate. I don’t let him dictate my behavior anymore, but I can’t seem to get rid of him either.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Thanks. It’s not so bad though. I’m happy enough with my existence.”
    “If that’s true, then why do you sound so sad?”
    “Well, I guess I’m not completely content. I know my appearance is only an ethereal shadow of physical reality, but I hate looking like this.”
    “Like a man?”
    “Yeah.”
    “There’s no way to change how you look after you die?”
    “Well, some spirits change. But I don’t think I can.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I’m not strong enough.”
    And as hopelessness wreaks havoc on my soul, the Man in the Crate manifests beside me.
    He slams his body against the wood. “Let me out, you fucking wacko!”
    I know he’s keeping me from changing my form. And I know I should confront him once and for all. But I’m afraid if I open the crate, he’ll overpower me, and crush everything inside me I hold dear.
    “Ash,” Rhianna says. “Just because you feel powerless doesn’t mean you are.”
    Maybe she’s right.
    And maybe one day I’ll face my fears.
    But for now, I decide to ignore the Man in the Crate, and watch Rhianna cry.

Fungus of the Heart
     
    The smart thing would be to ignore the jester as he taunts me with a slap of his ass and a lick of the bloody saw attached to his marotte. But I stopped making wise decisions ever since they locked you up in the Fortress. Anyway, the clown butchered Billy, and you know how much I love that warthog.
    So I run after the maniac.
    And he leads me through a forest that reminds me of your fuzzy green boots, because of all the moss.
    If I exerted myself, I could catch up to the fleet-footed fool in a matter of moments. But of course I’m not willing to sacrifice even a smidgen of my true power. Not for anyone but you.
    Eventually, the harlequin leaps on a heap of trash, and rolls around, giggling.
    “Why did you murder my companion?” I say.
    The jester ignores me.
    So I race over, and kick him in the stomach. “I said, why did you murder my companion?”
    “I heard you.” He speaks, barely moving his lips, using his marotte like a ventriloquist dummy. The scepter’s topped with a small, wooden version of the jester’s head, with matching donkey ears, scars. Even the same frown line.
    He still doesn’t answer my question, so I kick him again.
    “You looked so peaceful,” the fool says. “Lying there on the grass, all cuddly-wuddly with the piggy. I knew you loved him.”
    “So you drugged me in my sleep?” I say. “And you sawed off his head?”
    “I had to do something. The bond between you and the beast reeked in my mind’s nostril. Just thinking about it makes me throw up in my mouth. Blerg! Blerg!”
    “Stop that.”
    “No. Blerg!”
    I stomp on his hand. “The more you annoy me, the less merciful I feel. I suggest you beg Billy for forgiveness, or I’ll have no problem ridding the world of a speciesist like you.”
    The jester raises an eyebrow. “Speciesist? You misunderstand my sentiment. I don’t have a particular prejudice against the camaraderie between man and beast. I abhor all emotional connections, equally.”
    “Ah. So you’re one of the