Yellow Mama E zine

Dear Frank

​

by Stefan Sofiski

 

         Dear Frank

         This is your new heart.

         You must’ve thought it was over—strapped to a damp hospital bed, pricked with needles, your mind suffocating in the syrup of painkillers they were pumping into you.

You must be wondering how you got me. Your unexpected gift—a new lease of life?

I couldn’t let you die, Frank. How could I? After everything you’ve done?

Remember that time you tried to “fix” me? You lured this call girl, a redhead, into my room, locked us together and screamed you wouldn’t open until I “did her.”

I didn’t. I couldn’t. When you realized the fix hadn’t worked, you stormed in, finding us curled up together in the corner of the room. You pulled her away from me, plucking out a clump of red as you dragged her. Your fists started alternating between us, punches smearing blood from one face to the other.

          When you were done, you threw the redhead out. Me you locked in the basement.

         Did you hear me that night? I’d fainted on the wet concrete. Awoken by rats biting my haunches, I screamed. Begged you, promised I’d change.

         When I got away, I spent years trying to piece myself together—starting from nights under bus shelters, I slowly clawed my way up to a shared flat. Therapy. But I couldn’t chase you away from my head. Every night I woke up with a sensation on the inside of my thighs—sharp little rat teeth reminding me of you.

         I remember when you found me. The doctors had given you months to live, your ice heart was turning into slush. You wanted to reconcile. Your breathless lips sought forgiveness. But your eyes hadn’t changed. And neither had I.

        You were dying, leaving me with the memory of you? I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t keep suffering whilst you got an easy way out.

         I knew I would be a match, same blood. I authorized a solicitor to send this letter to you in the event of my death. I signed up as an organ donor. I am giving away everything, hoping my liver and kidneys won’t carry the scars of my life into the people who got them. My heart I am saving for you, I’ll write your name in my suicide note to make sure it goes to you, and I’ll think about you when I stand on the ledge of the clock tower.

        If you’re reading this, I’m your heart now! You’re part-faggot yourself, big man, and you will live a long life.

        I’m going to pump poison into you, crumple your chest every time you think about me. Until your teeth fall out and you go blind and deaf and shrivel into a raisin, I’ll always thump in you, fucker.

        Yours forever,

              Franky Jr.

 

         Stefan Sofiski is the pen name of a double miscast in the literary community: a left-brain structural engineer writing fiction, and a Bulgarian doing it in English. He holds a PhD in engineering and a Pushcart nomination in writing. He juggles these two worlds, often embarrassing himself in both. Stefan works in two intertwining registers: literary fiction (Unbroken Journal, Flash Fiction Magazine, Tint Journal) and thriller/noir (Yellow Mama, Shotgun Honey, Close to the Bone, Thriller Magazine).