He watched Martin clean his nose, his great Caesarian nose that should have sponsored historic campaigns but only counted grass and pine needles.
Every morning Martin got up half an hour early to fulfil the ritual.
Toothpicks, cotton-wool, vaseline, mirrors.
Breavman asked him why.
“I like to have a clean nose.”
Martin asked Breavman to mail a letter to his brother. Mrs. Stark had given instructions that they be intercepted and destroyed. Breavman read them and they brought him closer to the boy’s anguish.
Dear Bully fat Bully you dirty
I got your last thirty-four letters and saw in a second the millions of lies. I hope you starve and your boner breaks in half with lots of screams and lets the beetles out after what you told her about me. Why don’t you fill your mouth with towels and razor-blades. Mummy is not a stupid skull she sneaked a look in the flashlight and read the poison shit you wrote me under the blankets.
love your brother,
MARTIN STARK