by Elizabeth Morton
It’s not true until it’s Facebook true. When the squid stole one of my fallopian tubes, I updated my status. I wrote ‘meh’ and sighed the only way one can sigh online. People bought it, too. I scrolled 48 comments, with sorry-faced emoticons and kiss-kisses. People cursed the cephalopod and offered me virtual wine, virtual touch, and a goat. It was all very nice. My fallopian tube was a fine swap for the sentiment.
When the boy at the Toga party undressed me, I didn’t make it my status, so it didn’t happen. Nobody bought his tobacco tongue down my throat. Nobody bought the saliva on my breasts.
It’s not true until it makes the newsfeed, with sloth pictures and yogurt recipes. When the squid kidnapped my spleen I typed OMG onto my timeline and tagged 32 friends. My friends, and even friends of friends, sent me inspirational quotes and Keep Calm posters with zombie references. One day, the squid got a hold of my heart. I made the post public. It was a real hit. Somebody started a Page called Cephalopods and Julie. It attracted 529 members. People posted their favourite cuttlefish images, debated over the plural for octopus.
When the boy at the Toga party undressed me, it didn’t even.
And it’s not like it’s true until it’s Facebook true.
People like genuine squid.
About Elizabeth Morton
Elizabeth Morton is a New Zealand writer. She has been published in Poetry NZ, PRISM international, Cordite, JAAM, Shot Glass Journal, Takahe Magazine, Blackmail Press, Meniscus, Flash Frontier, SmokeLong Quarterly, the Sunday Star Times, Literary Orphans, and in Island Magazine, among others. In her free time she collects obscure words in supermarket bags.