THE SILKY COCOON

THE DEVIL LIKES CANDY APPLES by johnny ngo

the boy was thirteen when he met the Devil. 

the boy first saw her outside a candy shop. she was staring inside, eyeing the fresh cherry red candy apples. “they’re really good,” the boy claimed, “my mother knows her apples.” the girl kept her dark maple wood eyes focused on the window. it was difficult to tell if she was infatuated with the presentation of sweets or her own reflection. the way she wore her yellow headband did look perfect today. “do you want one?”  the boy asked. she peeled her eyes from the window and turned to the boy. she gave a slight nod. the boy went inside and fetched her a candy apple. 

the boy sat with the girl on the side of the street. she looked to be the same age as the boy. she wasn’t particularly pretty nor was she specifically ugly. she was normal looking, but there was something defiant in the way she carried herself. 

“what’s your name?” he asked.
“the Devil,” she replied nonchalantly. 

the Devil was enjoying every bite of her candy apple and the boy was enjoying her enjoying every bite. “do you want to know my name?” the boy asked. she shook her head. the boy was confused, but he didn’t care too much. 

“where do you live? i’ve never seen you before. all the kids stop by my mom’s candy shop.” 
“i’m from here.” she finished her candy apple and threw it at some pigeons cooing nearby. again, the boy was confused, but he shrugged. the boy was simple minded. he never spent more than fifteen seconds being confused or mulling over a question. if he didn’t understand, he would let it go. that’s why he never solved the rubik’s cube in his room. that’s not to say the boy wasn’t smart, he just knew how to value his time at thirteen. 

“meet me here tomorrow? same time?” she asked. the boy nodded. he wasn’t doing anything. it was the first week of summer. it was the last summer before he would go onto high school and onto ambiguous beginnings. the Devil turned around and disappeared down the street. the next day the boy waited. his mother asked why he was standing outside the shop doing nothing when he could be sweeping. the boy told his mother that he was waiting for the Devil. the mother gave the boy a good slap on the back of the head and stepped back inside the shop. the Devil arrived right on time. she was wearing a floral dress with the same yellow head band. she asked if she could have another candy apple. the Devil watched the boy walk inside and grabbed one of his mother’s candy apples right in front of her. the boy’s mother gave her son a dirty look and briefly lectured him. the Devil couldn’t tell what the mother said but she knew the boy was going to be in trouble later. 

the boy returned with the Devil’s treat. right after the boy handed the candy apple over, the Devil grabbed the boy’s hand and led him away. she whispered to the boy that she had something exciting to show him. she took him to see a dog that was run over on the street. only the posterior half of the dog was crushed, the anterior half was fine. the dog’s tongue was hanging out its mouth and onto the street. it was still panting. the sight of the dying dog made the boy turn around and run. he only ran half a block before his asthma stopped him. the Devil ran up to the boy and asked if he was okay. the boy was quiet, his lips were tight and jaw clenched. he refused to look at the Devil at first, but when he calmed down, he saw that the Devil had started eating her candy apple. the boy suggested that they leave and go to the arcade down the street. the local arcade was the boy’s favorite place to go when he wanted to getaway. 

the boy and the Devil didn’t play any games. instead, they watched the older boys play and compete. the other kids glared at the boy for bringing a girl to the arcade. the boy ignored the glares, but the Devil didn’t. she shouted at them, “what the fuck are you looking at?!” the older boys were shocked, but not scared. they approached the boy and the Devil, threatening them to leave or they were going to kick both their asses. the boy shrugged. he grabbed the Devil’s hand and led the way. while walking away, the Devil flipped off the older boys. one of the older boys saw this and hurled his half-empty can of soda at them. the can knocked the boy straight across the back of his head. the boy was momentarily stunned, but he ignored the pain and left the arcade with the Devil. 

they walked to a nearby park. the boy sat down on the grass and rubbed his fresh bruise. the Devil asked the boy if he was okay, but the boy was quiet again. 

“are you mad at me?”
“do you want to get ice cream?”
“you still want to hang out with me? aren’t you afraid i’m really the Devil?”
“you’re not really the Devil?”
“how would you know?”
“I don’t know.”
“how do you know i’m not God pretending to be the Devil to test you?”
the boy paused for fourteen seconds and said, “i don’t care if you’re the Devil or God, i’d still treat you the same.” 

the Devil fell silent. she removed her head band and scratched her head. she ran her fingers across the prickly teeth of her head band, checking its strength and quality. the boy didn’t understand what she was doing. he got up and dusted himself off. 

“let’s get some ice cream.”

PINK ASHES by johnny ngo

i heard that people explode from tasting their own personal nirvana.

spontaneous human combustion. i’ve never seen it actually happen. i’ve seen the ashes afterwards. they’re pink. i’ve read that the body releases this chemical right before it ignites and this chemical, this chemical makes your insides pink. they don’t teach you that in biology class, not even in AP biology. my high school was not that kind of high school. when i read about the pink ashes, i imagined the color of pink to be the kind of pink like the fleeting color of the sky at the end of a long day when the sun sets. my guess wasn’t too far off.  

i came home late from a school dance. i was drunk. i accidentally stumbled into my parents’ room and all i saw was pink ashes. it was on their sheets, the floor, and the ceiling. even the family dog had a little pink in her fur. i knew my parents combusted, but why? was it from sex? some intimate conversation? well, whatever it was, i concluded that i was not part of it. i was never a product of their nirvana. 

the next morning, i sat in the kitchen at the breakfast table replaying the scene i witnessed last night. as much as i loved my mom and dad, i didn’t want to end up like them. whatever they experienced, i wasn’t ready. i grabbed my bike and closed the door.

i went to see my girlfriend. we kissed. she undressed. i left. 
i visited my grandparents. i told them about my parents. i cried. 
i went to see my girlfriend again. she was still undressed. i left. 
i tried that drug the jocks were smoking. i laughed a lot. i cried.

the whole day i did things that excited me and then calmed me. all that thinking about nirvana and combustion really got to me. i went to the library and found some books about it. it turns out nirvana was also a popular American rock band during the 1990’s. the first human combustion was dated 2050, forty-five years ago. i guess somewhere along the line of human existence happiness became too real for human physiology. that’s too bad.

i started to wonder if there were any records of implosions, but i found nothing. i went to the front desk. 

“excuse me, has there ever been a case of spontaneous human implosion?”
“if there was, how would anybody know? an implosion would be untraceable.”

i thought about it.

“shit.”
“what is it, kid?”
“well, you can either end up in a pink pile of dust or go unnoticed.”

the librarian thought about it. 

“what a time to be alive then.”

SON OF A CAPTAIN by johnny ngo

it was hot. i sat quietly beside my father as i watched the others row the ship like their life depended on it. my father whipped anyone who wasn’t gripping their oars tight enough, until the bone of their knuckles were translucent underneath their scorched skin. 

he also whipped anyone who looked at me.

i never asked if i could hold my father’s whip. we never talked about it. but then, one day, he held it in front of my eyes and waited for me to take it. it looked heavy. i didn’t know what to do. i hesitated. wouldn’t you if your father suddenly offered his pride to you?

“do you not want to hold it?” he asked without taking his eyes off the family of scorched men. i wanted to say yes, but all i did was nod my head gently.   

“are you willing to whip those who deserve it?”

i nodded again.

“And those who do not?”

“Why should i—” my father slapped me hard across the face. 

“captain, the boy—” my father cracked his whip at one of the oars men. they kept rowing.

i looked at my father’s stone face. “but—” he slapped me again. harder. 

“captain!—” my father cracked his whip twenty times, non stop.

as i stood and watched, i used my tongue to check the inside of my mouth. on the side where i was slapped, my teeth felt uneven. i waited until my father lowered his whip before i spoke again. i opened my mouth, but my father spoke first. 

“everyone deserves it,” he told me.

my father never offered his whip again.

thanks to my father we arrived a day early. not even a storm could keep my father from arriving as planned. the crew left the ship to find a local tavern. my father took me aside and lead me away from the dock. he told me that i must be left behind. i could no longer remain on the ship, or any ships. he could no longer cut my hair and fool the crew. i was getting older. my body slimmer. my cheek bones higher. 

i never saw my father again. 

i never stepped foot on a ship again. ironically though, every time my hair grew past my ears i took a blade and slashed my hair. when i worked at my first tavern, i looked like a boy. when i fell in love, i looked like a boy. when i became a mother, i looked like a boy. 

i did once, actually, allowed my hair to grow pass my chin. it tickled my neck, but not in the comforting way. i quickly searched for a blade. i wanted to become a boy again. 

Hi, my name is..

a mystery! Life is a mystery that is never meant to be fully solved. Remember to go forward and never backward. No matter how complicated, hard, and painful a situation is, there will always be a lesson that is meant to be learned. Even when it seems the world is against you, you just need to look to your side and I’ll be there. Don’t ever think you’re alone because you’re not. Your untapped talent is just waiting to shine so close your eyes, open your mind, and open your heart. You’ll see what was once invisible to you before. The little things matter too. What may seem insignificant to someone else can be gold to you. So acknowledge everything, give it all a chance. Life is what you make it. THe past cannot be changed, the present is already happening, but the future is forever in your hands. Only you have control of your life. So take control. Make things happen. Do what makes you happy. Focus on your goals. If you fail, then try again. Keep trying until you succeed. If you fall, then get yo butt back up. The world will always be moving, it will never stop for you, but you can make it notice you. Make yourself stand out. Be different. Be unique. Be who you really are. Change only for yourself and no one else. Any regrets you have, either let them go or go take care of them. You can do so much. Don’t ever forget that. -JY

THE HORN by johnny ngo

i’ve been staring in the mirror for the last 15 minutes and all i keep looking at is the horn that’s growing on the side of my head. it’s not ugly — i mean, if you think horns are disgusting because of it’s phallic-resemblance then yes, i’m ugly. 

really ugly.

but i’m not staring in the mirror wondering why i suddenly have a horn growing out the side of my temple. i’m wondering why my horn is pointing down. have you heard of such a thing? people are going to think i’m sad. 

“hey buddy, why is your horn facing down? are you down? is something wrong?” 

i dug around and found my saw. it was old and rusty. i wondered if my horn would get an infection because of the rust. i don’t know, i don’t want to risk it.

i sat in my kitchen alone for the rest of the day wondering. my wife and our adopted son came home around dinner time. they asked why i was sad. i shook my head and cooked dinner for them. they had some questions but i told them i didn’t want to talk. before they went to bed they hugged me and gave me a kiss, once on my cheek and once on my deformed horn. 

i couldn’t sleep that night. was i being punished for something? was it something i ate? and then it hit me.

i was sad. 

why? when did it start? why didn’t i grow a horn all those other times i was sad? why now? i’m fifty-three, but i look fifty. i still have my six pack. i can still summon a confident erection. my wife is beautiful. i cannot be more proud of my adopted son. we have a home. we have food. we have each other. what do i have to be sad about? i sipped on my aged-scotch, staring into the woods. 

what do i have to be sad about?