Word Count: 310
Related works: N/A
“I had another fucking one.
I was going to see her. Her. You know. She was at a treatment center in a large mansion. I was wearing the outfit they cut to bits, and my fall jacket. I brought flowers. They didn’t want me to see her, they said she was scared of what I’d think. I assured them-her- that it would be ok.
She was beyond skinny, she was fucking emaciated, painful to look at. Her princess hair was cut short, but she was still a princess.
We spent time together. We ate, and played cards. I made her laugh. She let her fucking guard down, though. When she lifted a foot to sit cross legged, i saw her left ankle and screamed. The white bone of her ankle was completely exposed, and the flesh on either side of it was rotting. She didn’t tell me because she didn’t want me to worry. I gave up and tucked her into bed, figured we’d talk about it in the morning.
I turned to leave, but then turned back at the last moment before reaching her door. She was having a seizure. I screamed, but nothing came out this time. I switched tactics and ran into the hallway. All of the staff were blobs, carrying fat in places that made them slow, awkward walkers. They wouldn’t even look my way. I threw vases, picture frames, figurines at them until they followed me back into her room.
But she was fucking dead.
I wish it ended there, But no. It ends with me walking in front of her casket, crying and asking God why this had to happen to her.”
“And you had that dream the day after you read the conversation?”
“Look, I already know they’re metaphors. I know what they mean. Its YOUR job to make them go away.”