I slipped. All right? I made an ass of myself. I got drunk, shouted things, I don’t know what things, stupid things, next thing I know three cops bust in, pull me off the window ledge. I didn’t exactly “assault” them—well maybe I threw stuff. I have shingles, all right? Shingles hurt like hell, plus I’m a diabetic.  I’m not off my bonnet. You know what I am? A kid. Fifty-seven years old and inside still a kid. Thank God for child psychiatrists.  You know? Thank God for child psychiatrists for big kids like me.




Molly Giles has published two prize-winning collections of short stories (Rough Translations and Creekwalk) and a novel, Iron Shoes. A collection of her flash fictions entitled Bothered is forthcoming from Split Oak Press early next year. She teaches fiction writing at the University of Arkansas.

Photo Credit: Jason Stankiewicz

One Response to “Self-Diagnosis”

  1. Brittany Pope says:

    This story is really strong. I liked it a lot. Good job!

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