young serial killers
when i was little my sister, my cousins, my aunt, and i used to create concoctions from things we found in my grandparents’ bathroom -shampoo, toothpaste, mouthwash, whatevs- and inject it into these caterpillar things. we used syringes we also found in there. the caterpillars would generally just die, but sometimes they would blow up or do other cool shit.
i always thought my grandpa had diabetes. that’s the only explanation i could imagine for the number of syringes and little bottles of medication in that bathroom. turns out, my family just liked injecting themselves with things to get better. primarily, vitamin b. headache; toothache; gaping wound. just inject that shit. doctors and hospitals? ladrones! no reason to go through all that rigamoroll.
when i got to colombia knowing my 84 year old grandma had a tumor in her sinus, i expected to find syringes strewn about like the first of the month in san francisco’s tenderloin district. but i’m thinking that habit died with my grandpa. she goes to the clinic every day to get her radiation. and now, i’m the one who doesn’t trust them. besides the usual western medicine love of killing the body to cure the disease, they also tell her she can eat whatever she wants -sans acidic, spicy, and hot food- and reassure her that the constant bleeding out of her nose means the tumor is getting smaller. right… the caterpillars met a better end.