I found the mannequin of a 13 year old boy in an abandoned horse barn

There is a ramshackle old horse barn in the lot next door to our house, and last night I got high on some premium Oregon indica and went spelunking with my trusty machete, slashing my way through the angry, thorny blackberry bushes as I carved my path. I felt testosterone coarsing through my veins as I stepped boldly across the threshold, brushing aside decades-old cobwebs.

What I found was amazing - a dismembered mannequin: head, legs, arms, torso. When I returned this afternoon after my nap, I gathered all the limbs and body parts and hauled them back into our basement.

As I gingerly unpacked my prized possession from the vintage WWII English parachute that I used to transport the mannequin, I saw that the figure was a teenage boy, was handsome to look at, and was nearly complete - missing only a right hand and all of the digits on his left hand.

On the top of the hips, where the socket that attaches the body to the legs was located, I saw that the previous owner had written “13 year old boy” in a black marker.

I spent the evening cleaning, assembling, and dressing the mannequin. By the time I was tugging my fiancee’s old jeans (they had been in the pile for Goodwill - fortunately closed due to COVID) onto the lad, I’m not ashamed to say that I had become quite fond of him. I had decided to call him Roman, after the great film director who wrote frequently about mannequins.

My friends, family, and fiancée are all being incredibly negative (me mum being the lone exception. She says he’s “adorable”). They are saying that young Roman is creepy and some unflattering things about me that I won’t repeat here.

My fiancée says that ”Roman is gone as soon as you fall asleep tonight.” I don’t like the way she says “Roman” with such contempt.

Here are some pictures. It’s been quite an adventure and I welcome any suggestions of how / what / where I can best use Roman.












>