Wednesday, March 19, 2008

decimation. gun in your mouth. talk.

the curtian comes up on a man and a little girl, ice skating. she flings her arms above her head and he hoists her up by her wrists and slings her over his shoulders. he: flies around the pond once, twice, tossing her into a snowbank. she: erupts into a cacophony of laughter and asthma. 'again!' she shreiks. flying. 'this time pretend i'm carrying you. scott! i'm carrying you!'

twenty years later you're on your knees on damp shag carpeting, dry mouthed and choking, blood on your hands while you try to pick a piece of his skull to put in your pocket.

scott! i'm carrying you!

i didn't check the mail for ten days. scared there would be a letter. certain there would be a letter. desperate that there would be a letter. i checked the mail today. how could you fucking do this to me.
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