More short storey-ish:
At 14, I am visited by strange green flies and visions of the virgin. She is out of focus. Her hair appears to be pink. She speaks only in Greek. When I shake my head because I don't understand, she gives me the finger.
My sisters pinch me and talk about fixations on Britney Spears.
Each night the moon is full. The flies avoid the TV, but cling to the mirrors. My sisters swat at them and glare. Sometimes I look at myself in old photos late into the night. I was different then, before I was called. Since then I have shaved my head and sleep on the floor. I only bathe in fat-free milk.
Still, the virgin torments me. Her sarcasm is enormous. My dreams are filled with blocks of color. Sometimes I dream with my eyes open. The teachers in school resent this. My mother can do nothing with me. My sisters tie my hands behind my back and leave me in a closet for days. The virgin persists.
I begin to think the Virgin resides in one of my bicuspids, and I attempt to remove it. My father offers me his pliers.
They bury me at sunset next to my grandmother. Purple roses spring spontaneously from my grave. During the wake, the virgin appears and hovers over the TV set. She points to my youngest sister. The others move their chairs away from her. She pisses herself.