A Girl Is a Half-Formed Thing Read Online Free Page A

slapping. Don’t you dare be defacing Our Lord. But I. Blood from this eye. In my own time on the sly she never catch me. Lying on my belly singing When creation was begun god had chosen you to be mother of his blessed son holy Mary full of grace. Stick it in him. I like it hurts so much. His mother is crying to see him. Lovely blood on thorns and scourging is the best thing though this picture doesn’t show his back. Holes of wounds for stabbing in lances or nails. That one is infected. It would be worser than this if they stuck a knife in I’d say. But I didn’t have red felt tip. That got squashed in Tiny Tears’ eye. You did it. Still, good to see him going bloody to death, though pink. Busy I was with a million gushing cuts to draw, make them worser, giving scabs. Where’s the pain in that one? But I’d like to hear him crying, screaming most of all. How bad was it Jesus? Mr Jesus Christ. I thought Christ was his second name. She all the time pointing him out in pictures saying Jesus Christ. Mr Christ. Mrs Christ like Claus. You gone all strange, saw me, said I see what you’re doing. That makes Jesus cry. What? Drawing blood down between his legs. I amn’t. You are. So? It’s dirty. Don’t tell though, sure you won’t tell? I won’t do it again. Alright but you have to say your prayers and remember to tell it when you make your confession or. What? You’ll be going down to the hot place.

 
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    Down the road had farmer girls who were my class friends. Grease on their lunchboxes they always had. Smell of salad cream. Cheese biscuit stink of a house if I went down to play.
    Me and the stink girls when we are playing. We do something else at all. For badness if I stay the night – ach leave her here she’ll do no harm. We’re donned in finest vestments Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck our nylon nighties. Reverend she and Father me. Our altar decked with cotton bud candelabra. That chalice mug with flowers on, the cloth the mat and Jesus wafer cheese and onion. But first my children confess your sins. I am confessee. That is. Fr I do the cornflakes ad. Wag my bum like dogs with tails saying oooooo lovely cornflakes. And cornflakes cannot be a sin. It is though here. Do. Not. Wiggle. Your. Bottom. Like. That. It. Is. A. Sin. For her that admonition was the one they’d use and for my penance didn’t hit too hard. Me. On my legs. But sometimes pull my skirt up because that’s what priests would do. In front of all the people. Then they’d see your knick-knacks. Ten Hail Mary’s and a Glory Be.
    Now my children it is time for mass. Sing that song. Through him with him in him in the unity of the Holy Spirit all glory and honour is yours almighty father forever and ever. Say it, this is the body of Christ and eat your crisp. This is the blood of Christ and drink up that thick ribena blood. Don’t spit out. And on her mother push the door we quick disband for blasphemy’s the fatal sin.
    But their mother sent our one notes. Give that to your mam a ghrá. Saying we’re The Charismatics. Doing the good work. Doing the good work for Christ Our Lord. And she came one Sunday evening sat praying on me – a great haul for the fishers of men. They were talking for an hour and she said every Thursday then. Six o’clock? Yes. Fine.
     
    They come with fruitcakes. There’s a few little scones there in that tin. She says tell your brother bring in some tea. Put the tray down on the coffee table there, good boy. Isn’t he great? They’re click- clacking by the time you come in. Oh you’d go mad sitting in the house all day on your own. Look at that isn’t he great? Haven’t you him well-trained? Doing great. Are you delighted? Of course you are. He’s a great lad godbepraised. Like mothers they know all the questions and answers before. Knew to pat you. Knew to ask how’s school and who’s your teacher? Making your first holy this year? All that.
    They polyester tight-packed womanhood aflower in pink