JACKMOUTH:
✹ STORY ✹
November 0f 2007 - February of 2015
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This story covers an expanse of seven and-a-half years, centering around Nikolette Ruzicka's slow metamorphosis into something unknowable. She, her partner (whom she is irrevocably obsessed with), her twin, and their two other friends live in a dilapidated house on the shore after graduating high school. Niko is inhuman. She can die, but is always doomed to be brought back. She keeps hearing stories about a sailor named Ol' Finneas. Dead things keep washing ashore. Because her sense of reality has been slipping for a very, very long time, the world she inhabits is viewed through a lens impossible to understand.
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"I want to tell you this story without having to confess anything,
without having to say that I ran out into the street to prove something, that he didn't love me,
that I wanted to be thrown over, possessed.
I want to tell you this story without having to be in it:
Max in the wrong clothes. Max at the party, drunk again.
Max in the kitchen, in refrigerator light, his hands around the neck of a beer.
Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more.
I'm surprised that I say it with feeling.
There's a thing in my stomach about this. A simple thing. The last rung."
- Richard Siken, 'The Torn-Up Road'
November 0f 2007 - February of 2015
✹✹✹✹✹✹
This story covers an expanse of seven and-a-half years, centering around Nikolette Ruzicka's slow metamorphosis into something unknowable. She, her partner (whom she is irrevocably obsessed with), her twin, and their two other friends live in a dilapidated house on the shore after graduating high school. Niko is inhuman. She can die, but is always doomed to be brought back. She keeps hearing stories about a sailor named Ol' Finneas. Dead things keep washing ashore. Because her sense of reality has been slipping for a very, very long time, the world she inhabits is viewed through a lens impossible to understand.
✹✹✹✹✹✹
"I want to tell you this story without having to confess anything,
without having to say that I ran out into the street to prove something, that he didn't love me,
that I wanted to be thrown over, possessed.
I want to tell you this story without having to be in it:
Max in the wrong clothes. Max at the party, drunk again.
Max in the kitchen, in refrigerator light, his hands around the neck of a beer.
Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more.
I'm surprised that I say it with feeling.
There's a thing in my stomach about this. A simple thing. The last rung."
- Richard Siken, 'The Torn-Up Road'
