“Director’s Cut” by Kathryn Kulpa is an experimental flash fiction that explores interpersonal dynamics from multiple angles. These dynamics are illuminated in the sentence structure itself: the (mostly) unpunctuated tension between direct and indirect dialogue; the free-flowing inner monologue of the young narrator. And there’s a subtextual story haunting the narrative present, which manifests organically, tenderly, through stream-of-consciousness style. —Court Harler
A fake knife can cut you just like a real one. I didn’t know that until now, my blood seeping into the pool of ketchup mixed with acrylic paint on the floor. My arm throbs as if the severed hand lying on the ground is my real hand and Jonathan just keeps shooting.
Great shot, he says.
The color’s off, I say, because even with a big painful slash in my arm I see my blood is darker, less orangey, but Jonathan says they swirl together and the effect is mesmerizing.
Gore is easy, he says. Beauty is difficult.
Also freaking painful, I say, and walk off while he’s still filming, which I know he hates because he loves long takes, but I’m not getting septicemia for his slasher-slash-art film. Jonathan’s mom asks how the movie’s going and do I need a cup of tea and I say no, just the bathroom. I pull my sleeve down because I don’t want her to see my cut and freak out. She’s kind of a hypochondriac, talks about germs and how you should always close the toilet seat before you flush or else you’re spraying “atomized waste particles” into the air. Which I can’t stop thinking about every time I use the bathroom at school where the toilet seats don’t close, and now I have to pee but I hate using the bathroom at Jonathan’s house because it’s so close to the kitchen and I keep thinking his mom can hear me pee so I run the water full blast and then I see I’m dripping blood on her floor and on the toilet seat and my pants, even my sneakers are red, how could there be this much blood, did Jonathan nick an artery with the fake knife, could he have subbed a real one, but that would be a messed-up prank even for somebody whose favorite movie is Blood Feast, and then I realize it’s not from the cut and I’m bleeding like Carrie, hemorrhaging, how do I clean this up? Will Jonathan’s mom think I’m pregnant? Having a miscarriage? I’m scrabbling under the sink for pads, stuffing Kleenex in my pants, Jonathan’s mom knocking on the door and me hanging onto the sink hoping this dizzy feeling will pass because I’ve only ever acted faints, never done one, and she puts an arm around me, asks if it’s like this every time and I say mostly and she asks have I told anyone, which of course I haven’t, in middle school my dad asked if they told me about “that stuff” in health class and I said yes and that’s the last time he mentioned it, and she asks are the cramps bad and I nod and she says it’s endometriosis, she has it too, and then I’m in bed, sweatpants, heating pad, and when Jonathan asks can we get back to filming we give him the look and send him to the store for ice cream.
KATHRYN KULPA is the author of A Map of Lost Places (Gold Line Press) and For Every Tower, A Princess (Porkbelly Press). Her stories are published in Best Microfiction, Boudin, Flash Frog, Ghost Parachute, matchbook, New Flash Fiction Review, and Trash Cat Lit.
Featured image by Eric TERRADE, courtesy of Unsplash.
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