The Opiate: Summer 2015, Vol. 2

Page 7

The Corpse Boy - Josiah Golojuh

The Corpse Boy Josiah Golojuh

A

lthough he did not look like one, The Golem was a hero. An accident in space ravaged his body and made him appear a monster, as it did his brother, The Grim. Glen “Gray Hair” Graboyes, a hot shot shuttle pilot, and his brother Reuben, a crackpot scientist; together attempted to travel around the rings of Saturn, backwards and forwards through time. Interstellar raydons changed the identical twins into matching monsters. Save for the distinct scar across Glen’s face, they remained two stupendously different men who happened to spring from the same chromosome. They shared only two things, their appearance and their bold daring sense of adventure. A cataclysmic miscalculation on Reuben’s part, and overly impetuous piloting on Glen’s part, resulted in the interstellar radiation that changed them. They returned to earth, but they did not return as Glen and Reuben. Glen came back the noble and loving Golem, however Reuben’s dark heart grew only shades blacker as he became the murderous and hateful Grim. When Oliver’s mum gave him the toy, the package read “THE GRIM,” in bold yellow and red letters, but he knew better. He knew it was actually The Golem, it was the hero. The Grim lied, cheated, stole, and even killed! Oliver’s toy was that of a good man. A man befallen by tragedy, which made him a better man. His toy was not the Grim, it was the Golem.

Everyday Oliver played alone in his yard. Inside the trailer his mum yelled so loudly at the TV it forced Oliver to gather a handful of toys and make his way to the barren front yard. There the tall dying grass became a desert savannah, a tropical rainforest, a far off alien world, anywhere other than where Oliver was. His imagination carried him off with one consistent feature to his tall tales, a quiet thoughtful hero subdued a loud and bombastic villain. The toys he took would vary, with one exception, he always took The Golem. The Golem was always the hero, Oliver’s hero. The yelling happened when his Mum was alone, as she was nearly all of the time. Sometimes she shouted about those “liberal bastards,” or “those cunt bag Republicans.” He did not know what any of it meant, but he knew if his mum did not like them they must be no good. Other times the shouting was different, like she was in pain, but enjoying it. That kind of shouting came when the men visited. She called them her “Special Company.” That shouting came at night. He knew it was best to pretend to sleep, trapped in his bed attempting to find quiet in his head. When the Special Company came during the day she never had to tell him to go outside, he already knew it. It was apparent to him by the looks on the faces of the men. There he remained until they left. On those days, even if it was raining,

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The Opiate: Summer 2015, Vol. 2 by theopiatemagazine - Issuu