Onion Boy, Snake Girl, and the farmer’s daughter were playing down by the creek under the full moon one night. Each one took turns shedding their skin. Onion Boy was first, he peeled layer after layer of papery onionskin until his smooth, white face shone in the moonlight. “Me next!” shouted Snake Girl, who crouched down by the bank and concentrated hard. She slithered out of her old skin very slowly until it hung like ribbons across the wet stones.
“Now it’s your turn,” said Onion Boy as he turned to the farmer’s daughter.
“How does your skin come off?” Snake Girl said.
“I don’t know,” the farmer’s daughter replied.
“Shall we find out?” Onion Boy asked. When Onion Boy and Snake Girl were finished, they laid the bloody skin out in the moonlight to dry.
Kellye McBride lives in an abandoned railcar off of highway 101, where it is rumored she is making a living yelling at squirrels, who have no concept of personal boundaries. It is a losing battle and she is very tired.
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