Grandma made us go upstairs on our way out of the house. She opened a door to a room. A large puppet was standing behind glass, her mouth open on a waxy face that made you think it could've been a corpse. My sister screamed. I walked in, hiding my eyes. Grandma said look around, look at all this. I moved my hand. We were in an attic. Nothing here was familiar yet I knew each thing by heart. Each one was old and smelled like dust and skin after a day under a mean sun. There was a small window, too, and a doll. Perhaps several dolls. My uncle gave me a pair of his ripped up jeans. I wore them. I started spitting little blobs of skin and flesh. They came out of my mouth in a hurry, the little ulcers. I pulled a large piece of plastic out of my throat. It was the shape of a sole, transparent. I thought, how have I swallowed this, and : was I dying. I was most certainly dying.