Not my normal style, but I think this soliloquy turned out pretty well…
I knew that getting this chump to believe that it had been a busy couple of days would be harder than getting the itch from under my sock. I had to be smooth as a bottle of cough syrup smuggled out of Walmart. I had to be quick as a whippet.
I didn’t have time for it though. I had pills to pop and adult alternative to blast. I had memories of wrongs to replay. The night was long enough without this sad pup biting at my ankles.
Playing it off nonchalantly, I excused myself under the guise of writing. Easy as that, he was gone. Maybe he was easy to get rid of than this fucking itch. I think I’m starting to scratch myself raw.
‘Blood’s cheap though, it’ll be back. CSF would be an entirely different story though. Thank god I only gave her my heart, and kept my spine intact,’ I mused not so gently, begging for sleep, a relief from the waking nightmare and a journey into a nightmare that I can control.
Sleep wouldn’t come for a while. I had too many failures to relive. I had to reflect on how I haven’t hiked in two years, or seen my dad in seven months. I just laid there, covering myself in thin blankets breathing through a face hole.
Moments like those I almost miss the security of childhood, the security of knowing all the answers and having a mother for everything else.
Sleep was creeping in, weighting my eyebrows. I braced myself for what was to come. Would it be ticks on eyeballs? Would it be failing as a man? Would I lose everything?
I am pretty sure that night I was a monster.
Dcid Corvid 