"Visuals from the Confines of a Chair"

 

Her voice is gentle. The notation of her question makes my skin tense.

"Are you ready sweetheart?"

No words. Just a whimper. A want. The drive to look at her like a wounded deer, if only to get her going. Her grin slowly rises on her right side...a devious grin that states, without words, let the games begin.

I blink. Slowly and I assure you I blinked.

Why does it smell like the taste of house keys?

Is it blood?

It's blood.

"You made her fade...YOU!!!...YOU MADE HER LEAVE!!!"

Whatever is about to happen, I freak out, take a huge breath and start to cry.

Not for me.

Never. Ever. For me.

"I don't know exactly what I did. I don't. I won't lie."

A long, debilitated cackle...made of melanoma and strong country living...strings the words: "Oh naaaah darlin', aint'chu...it's heeeeerrrr.

Blood and bile in my teeth. Steady flag post in the road to insanity.

Days running together.

Cars...you know Cap't....all looking the same...you wasn't...hoping help would come and all...

Dehydration. Left arm out.

"well shucks Mister...we ate that fucking baby already...and...she was...dee-leck-table..."

You left her out here, so damn, let the birds of prey...prey...