Until today, Caroll Sun Yang’s vibrant & Proustian experimental flash fiction “My Teen Ghost is Hungry” could only be read in copies of our Spring 2017 issue, FLAPPERHOUSE #13… but now, as a special treat, it’s freely available to read on FLAPPERHOUSE.com ! Dig in…

{ X }

Prognosis. Oakland, 1974.

FATHER’S MATE SERVED STRAWBERRY ICE CREAM IN DEPRESSION ERA BOWLS. We prodded lobsters in ten gallon barrels. Babysitter froze colorful fluids in Gerber jars—I chipped away for taste and to birth gemmy shards. Nurse fed me marinated fish on sticky rice. Mother pushed me in a special stroller, post-hospital chocolate cookies leaving muddy smears on me. Picking Froot Loops out of olive shag while loving mangled dolls in heat. I taste/d air, a bustling mid-70’s melting pot with boiling grease, steamy grates and desperate immigrant kisses.

Prayer. Vallejo, 1981.

Fingered globs of Duncan Hines lemon frosting when none noticed. Held stolen Olive Wood rosary beads in my mouth. Balmy winds thrashed as devils chased me on my bike—mouth open to the antiseptic, wild fennel and sour flower fumes. I smoked candy cigarettes. Grandmother fed me bloated Captain Crunch in warmed milk. Fevers. I burned, snuck out in rain, pressed my cheek to a crippled Oldsmobile Cutlass, and lapped up lukewarm raindrops.

Remission. Oxnard, 1985.

Father arrived wielding a fluffy banana birthday cake with a tub of PB&J ice cream. Guzzled grape Slurpees with Randall while watching scrambled sexy movies. Malt-O-Meal quicksand drowning sliced hotdogs blanketed in Kraft Singles. Sunshine frolic with grimy kids, sucking Tang covered ice while wading in muddy backyard ponds. Slabs of Jolly Rancher Fire! Manure fields. Hot. Grainy Orange Metamucil doled by mother frowning.

Relapse. Camarillo, 1988.

We undressed easily, bodies collapsing on heaped clothes, chewing homework pencils and breaking Miracle Whipped bread with Libby’s corned beef that never met my hips. Final rays filtered through pale lavender drapes, faces painted in dreamy shadows, first/ last kisses. Radiant sick eyes, blather about heaven’s boys between sips of Minute Maid Punch in crystalline tumblers. Feverish. Settling sadness. Tongue fade.

Outcome. Here, Now.

Hunger.

{ X }

CAROLL SUN YANG earned her BFA at Art Center College of Design, an MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University, and holds certification as a Psychosocial Rehabilitation Specialist. Her work appears in The Nervous Breakdown, New World Writing, MUTHA Magazine, The Los Angeles Review of Books, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Necessary Fiction, Identity Theory, Word Riot, Columbia Journal and Juked. She lives and toils over her gestating debut collection while writeressin’ and matriarchin’ in Eagle Rock, CA. She can never have enough personality-disordered friends/ lo-fi anything/ human touch/ sarcasm/ cell photo filters/ art films featuring teens/ Latrinalia/ frosting flowers/ bio changes. She spews forth as Caroll Sun Yang on Facebook.