Mary Christof, Queen of Hearts

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The Brain

My feet took off running. Not only was the request creepy-but-doable...if she took out my brain, realistically, I’d be dead.


“I LOVE YOU, REALLY...” I yelled over my shoulder before turning a corner, “...BUT CAN WE PLEASE NEGOTIATE THE SCIENTIFIC RAMIFICATIONS OF TEARING OUT MY BRAIN, PLEASE?!”

I thought I’d lost them--well, we, considering baby Hadassah.

“THE BABY! MA, THE BABY!”

Cornered. Like a rat surrounded by cheese and scented traps.

“It’s painless, my love. Just like your heart removal...besides, this is only part of the dare, anyway. The second part, mon amour, is one you’ll be quite thrilled about--in more ways than one, I’ll be sure of it. Be still, be still...”

“My beating ribcage.

Où est mon cœur, de toute façon? Tu as volé et jamais le rendit!”

"Ah, oui. Votre cœur. Eh bien, ma douce servante, elle est ici , vierge et rouge ... tout comme vous lui avez donné, morceau par morceau simple.”

And there it was, as she had said. Red, pulsating, hypnotic, stabbed with what seemed to be a tattooed sword and decorated with lily flowers. "You tattooed my heart? I mean, I get you can do that with an arm, it's all fleshy, but a heart? What are you going to do with my brain, then?"



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